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NEVER -TOLD  TALES 

BY 

WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON,  M.  D. 

President  American  Society  of  MedidaX  Sociology,  President 

Northern  Medical  Society   of   the   City   of  New   York 
Chief    of    the    Department    of    Oenito-Urinary    Diseases    and 

Dermatology,  Bronx  Hospital  and  Dispensary 
Editor  of  The  American  Journal  of  Urology  and  The  Critic 
and      Guide,      Ex-President      Berlin      Anglo-American 
Medical    Society,    Member    American    Medical   Edi- 
tors'  Association,   American   Medical   Associa- 
tion,   New    York    State    Medical    Society, 
Medical    Society    of    the    County    of 
New  York,  Harlem  Medical  As- 
sociation, Society  Moral  and 
Sanitary  Prophylaxis,  In- 
ternationale Gesellschaft 
fiir  Sexualforschung, 
etc.,  etc. 


No  book  has  a  right  to  exist  that 
has  not  for  its  purpose  the  betterment 
of  mankind,  by  affording  either  use- 
ful instruction  or  healthful  recreation 

—W.  J.  B. 


EIGHTH  EDITION 


1914 

THE  CRITIC  AND  GUIDE  COMPANY 

12  Mt.  Morris  Park  West 

NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1908 
By  WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON,  M.  D. 


COPYRIOHT,   1912, 

By  WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON.  M.  D. 


31  Srbtrat? 
This  Humble  Collection  of  Stories 

TO 

My  Dear  Life  Companion 

WHO   HAS   THESE   MANY    YEARS   SHAHED 
MY  SOIiaOWS  AND  MY   JOYS 

AND 

My   Dear   Children 
Victor,  Ellen,  Frederick,  and  Herbert 


_.-!     £—  f 


,8 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword 7 

The   Story  of  Rose  and  Edward    .      .      .11 

The  Case  of  Lydia  Swinton 21 

The  Case  of  Irene  Larrabee  West  .  .  35 
One  of  Life's  Little  Dramas  ....  45 
TliE  Story  of  Betty  and  Bob  ....  57 
Who  Would   Blame   Her — Would  You?    .      83 

A  Wonderful  Country 101 

The  Life  History  of  an  Ideal  Man  .      .      .117 
A  Never  Told  Tales  Misunderstanding   .    141 
A  Page  from  the  Life  of  Professor  Beau- 
mont        153 


FOREWORD 

"Never-Told  Tales."  I  have  no 
doubt  that  many  good  souls  after  reading 
these  humble  pages  will  think:  'Twould 
have  been  better,  if  these  tales  had  still 
remained  untold.  Some  people  are  so 
squeamish  that  they  are  shocked  by  the 
simplest  truths.  You  cannot  argue  with 
a  person's  sense  of  propriety.  The  nudity 
of  the  new-born  babe  has  been  known  to 
shock  deeply  the  sensibilities  of  some  old 
maids.  With  such  people  I  have  no  quar- 
rel. All  I  can  say  is :  honi  soit  qui  mal  y 
pense.  Everybody  is  entitled  to  his 
opinions  and  to  his  feelings.  For  my 
part  I  will  say:  It  is  a  pity,  a  heartbreak- 
ing pity,  that  these  tales  were  not  told 
long,  long  ago.  "  There  is  too  much 
misery  in  this  world  "  is  the  plaint  of  Ed- 
mond  About 's  poor  Auvergnat.    And  a 

1 


FOREWORD 


good  part  of  this  misery  is  due  to  the  pre- 
vaiHng  sexual  ignorance,  to  the  taboo  with 
which  all  discussion  of  sexual  matters,  and 
of  venereal  diseases  has  been  surrounded. 
Undoubtedly  much  of  the  world's  misery 
is  unavoidable  in  our  present  stage  of  civ- 
ilization; but  very  much  of  it  is  prevent- 
able. All  that  is  necessary  is  to  rend  the 
thick  shroud  of  ignorance  that  envelops 
the  subjects  which  are  of  prime  impor- 
tance to  the  human  race. 

No  one  is  so  familiar  with  the  misery, 
the  tragedies,  the  barren  and  wasted  lives, 
the  premature  graves,  the  suicides,  the 
neurasthenic  suiFerings,  etc.,  caused  by 
sexual  ignorance,  as  is  the  observing  and 
sympathetic  physician.  Yes,  this  is  a  mat- 
ter which  concerns  the  race  most  vitally. 
It  is  a  deeper  tragedy  than  is  realized  by 
the  mass  of  mankind.  The  wTiter  has  seen 
young  blooming  girls  converted  into  piti- 
ful barren  wrecks  within  a  few  months 
after  their  marriage;  he  has  seen  house- 

2 


FOREWORD 


holds  made  desolate  and  children  orphaned 
by  the  mother  being  carried  oiF  to  a  pre- 
mature grave ;  he  has  seen  young  mothers 
reduced  within  a  few  years  to  a  condition 
of  wornout  hags,  by  incessant  child-bear- 
ing; he  has  seen  children  born  into  the 
world,  puny  and  crippled,  blind  and  nose- 
less; he  has  seen  many  terrible  things, 
which  cannot  even  be  mentioned  here,  all 
brought  about  not  by  the  wickedness,  but 
by  the  ignorance,  of  the  men  and  women 
entering  the  marriage  relations;  all  of 
which  could  have  been  prevented,  if  the 
tales  I  am  telling  now  had  been  told  be- 
fore! 

It  is  time  that  these  tales  should  no 
longer  remain  "Never-Told  Tales."  It 
is  time  that  the  ignorance  which  costs  so 
much  health,  so  much  happiness,  so  many 
lives,  should  no  longer  be  permitted  to 
hold  its  blighting  sway  in  our  midst ;  it  is 
time  that  life-destroying  prudery  should 
give  way  to  vitalizing  knowledge;  it  is 


FOREWORD 


time  that  sanctimonious  hyprocrisy  should 
give  way  to  honest  common-sense.  It  is 
time,  in  short,  that  darkness  should  give 
way  to  light  and  misery  to  happiness — it 
is  time,  therefore,  that  the  "  Never-Told 
Tales  "  should  at  last  be  told! 

The  author  is  convinced  that  if  these 
tales  were  put  into  the  hands  of  every 
man  and  woman  about  to  marry,  and  into 
the  hands  of  every  father  and  mother  who 
have  adolescent  children,  much  misery 
would  be  prevented  and  much  good  would 
be  accomplished.  Hence  does  he  send 
them  forth  into  the  world.     .     .     . 

W.  J.  R. 

12  Mt.  Morris  Park  W. 
December  8,  19O8. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND 
EDITION 

It  is  customary  for  an  author  to  ex- 
press gratification  at  the  early  appearance 
of  a  second  edition  of  his  book.  It  is 
gratifjang  to  the  author  that  a  new  edi- 
tion has  been  called  for  in  less  than  eight 
months;  it  shows  that  the  impermeable 
veil  of  Anglo-Saxon  prudery  which  has 
been  preventing  the  rays  of  light  from 
illuminating  certain  sore  spots  in  our  so- 
cial body,  which  needed  treatment,  is  being 
gradually  torn  away,  and  that  the  people 
are  willing  to  learn  the  truth  even  if  it  is 
occasionally  bitter  and  disagreeable. 

It  is  also  gratifying  to  record  that  the 
reviews  given  this  modest  collection  of 
true  tales  have  been  uniformly  favorable, 
some  extravagantly  so,  and  the  same  is 
to  be  said  of  the  private  opinions,  ex- 
pressed by  the  medical  and  lay  readers  of 
the  book. 


PREFACE 


We  are  sending  forth  this  second  edition 
of  Never-Told  Tales  without  the  apprehen- 
sion and  doubts  which  assailed  us  at  times 
during  the  preparation  of  the  first  edition; 
and  we  feel  quite  certain  that  a  third  one 
will  be  called  for  in  the  very  near  future. 

Berlin,  Germany,  August  26,  1909. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 

The  second  edition  of  Never-Told  Tales  was 
exhausted  even  more  rapidly  than  the  first.  It 
was  the  author's  intention  to  add  another  Tale 
to  this  collection,  but  the  numerous  urgent  orders 
which  had  to  be  filled  made  any  delay  inadvisable, 
and  the  present  edition  had  to  be  printed  without 
any  changes  or  additions. 

The  author  now  knows  that  this  humble  book 
is  doing  a  vast  amount  of  good. 

W.  J.  R. 

July  4,  1910. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTH  EDITION 

Go  forth,  thou  little  booklet,  into  the  world 
for  the  fourth  time,  and  mayst  thou  accomplish 
as  much  good  in  the  future  as  thou  hast  in  the 
past.  W.  J.  R. 

New  Yobk,  April  1,  1911. 


6 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIFTH 
EDITION 

That  Never  Told  Tales  is  a  useful  and 
necessary  book,  and  has  accomplished  very 
much  good,  is  a  fact  of  which  I  am  per- 
fectly certain.  Since  the  publication  of 
Never  Told  Tales  the  practice  has  become 
quite  common  for  young  men,  contemplat- 
ing marriage,  to  demand  an  examination, 
in  order  to  make  sure  whether  or  not  they 
are  fit  for  the  marriage  bed. 

I  know  that  its  homely  lessons  have 
prevented  much  disease  and  misery.  But 
it  seems  that  good  is,  if  not  always  or 
generally,  at  least  frequently,  accom- 
panied by  evil.  And  I  know  of  instances 
where  the  perusal  of  Never  Told  Tales 
produced,  for  a  time  at  least,  disastrous 
results.  I  do  not  speak  of  instances  where 
the  reading  of  the  stories  drove  patients, 
who  never  had  anything  the  matter  with 

7 


PREFACE 

them,  to  the  doctor's  office.  Here  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  a  little  anxiety  and  a 
doctor's  fee.  But  I  know  of  instances 
where  the  reading  of  the  book  by  married 
people  caused  imjust  suspicions,  led  to  es- 
trangement, temporary  separation,  and 
in  one  case  I  was  told,  even  to  divorce. 
In  more  than  one  case  it  was  the  cause  of 
deep  melancholy.  It  is  the  same  old  story 
of  the  danger  of  a  little  knowledge  and  of 
laymen  jumping  at  conclusions  from  in- 
sufficient premises.  But  this  is  a  condi- 
tion that  cannot  be  helped.  Every  book 
presenting  new  lines  of  thought,  advocat- 
ing a  new  and  higher  morality,  is  apt  to 
be  misunderstood  by  those  who  are  not 
ripe  for  it. 

A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous 
thing,  and  there  is  one  false  idea  against 
which  it  is  particularly  necessary  to  warn 
the  people.  This  idea,  fostered  by  the 
quasi-scientific,  is  to  the  effect  that  syph- 
ilis and  gonorrhea  are  incurable.    *'  Syph- 

8 


PREFACE 


ills  is  never  cured."  "  Once  gonorrhea, 
always  gonorrhea."  This  is  false.  These 
diseases  are  germ  diseases,  and  if  treated 
energetically  from  the  start  are  as  cur- 
able, and  as  radically  curable,  as  are  other 
germ  diseases.  The  diseases  are  bad 
enough  without  exaggerations.  It  is  all 
a  matter  of  early  treatment  and  of  proper 
treatment. 

If  I  were  not  sure  that  the  good  done 
by  Never  Told  Tales  is  incomparably 
greater  than  the  harm  which  it  has  caused 
and  may  continue  to  cause  occasionally, 
I  would  myself  consign  it  to  the  auto- 
da-fe.  But  its  great  value  to  the  rising 
generations  cannot  be  questioned,  and  the 
greater  its  circulation  the  better  for 
humanity. 

This  edition  contains  two  new  stories: 
The  Life  History  of  an  Ideal  Man,  and 
A  Never  Told  Tales  Misunderstanding. 

w.  J.  R. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH 
EDITION 

The  writing  of  a  preface  to  a  new 
edition  of  Never  Told  Tales  has  become 
an  annual  function  with  the  author.  He 
naturally  feels  gratified  that  the  demand 
for  the  Tales  which  he  was  the  first  to  tell 
is  not  diminishing,  but  on  the  contrary  is 
increasing,  and  he  hopes  that  this  edition 
will  be  exhausted  in  as  short  a  time  as  was 
the  last  one,  and  that  it  will  have  proved  as 
much  of  a  factor  in  opening  the  people's 
eyes  to  evils  that  threaten  the  integrity  of 
the  race  as  the  previous  five  editions  have. 

June  1,  1913 


PREFACE  TO  THE  EIGHTH 
EDITION 

It  is  five  years  ago  to-day  that  I  wrote 
the  preface  to  the  first  edition  of  these 
Tales.  With  practically  no  advertising 
except  that  in  The  Critic  and  Guide  it 
has  reached  the  eighth  edition  (the  sev- 
enth edition  was  printed  specially  for  the 
Sociological  Fund  of  the  Medical  Review 
of  Reviews) ,  and  is  now  considered  an  in- 
dispensable factor  in  the  great  work  of 
sexual  enlightenment,  in  the  great  battle 
against  the  great  venereal  plagues.  And 
so,  hon  voyage! 

December  8,  1913. 


THE    STORY    OF   ROSE    AND 
EDWARD 


THE  STORY  OF  ROSE  AND 
EDWARD 

yjViSS   ROSE  M was  a  little 

III  over  twenty-two.  She  was  a 
^  ^  bright,  cheerful,  happy  girl,  and 
this  was  her  happiest  day.  Not  only  be- 
cause on  that  day  she  was  graduated  from 
Barnard  with  high  honors,  but  Edward — 
dear  Ed,  whom  she  had  loved  and  looked 
up  to  for  so  many  years — had  proposed 
last  night,  and  the  passion,  romance  and 
aroma  of  that  proposal  still  lingered  with 
her.  And  how  the  plans  and  hopes  and 
dreams  kept  chasing  each  other  in  her  ac- 
tive, fertile  brain.  She  had  decided  where 
they  would  live,  where  they  would  spend 
their  summers,  how  she  would  bring  up 
her  children,  etc.,  etc.  And  Ed  was  a 
husband  to  be  proud  of.  Tho  but  twenty- 
eight  years  old  he  had  already  achieved 

13 


THE   STORY  OF   ROSE   AND  EDWARD 

eminence  in  the  legal  profession,  and  his 
practice  was  more  than  he  could  attend 
to.  And  he  was  one  of  those  rare  speci- 
mens, a  truly  honest  lawyer.  Not  honest 
in  the  legal  sense,  but  honest  in  the  true 
human  sense.  And  kind-hearted,  a  gentle- 
man in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  word 
and  an  all-round  athlete.  A  man  to  pro- 
tect a  woman  from  every  possible  care  and 
to  make  her  happy  as  long  as  she  lived. 
So  thought  Rose,  and  she  was  right. 

They  were  married  in  October.  They 
expected  to  stay  away  three  months  on 
their  honeymoon,  but  they  returned  after 
about  three  weeks.  Rose  was  not  feeling 
well,  and  traveling  and  staying  in  hotels 
didn't  agree  with  her.  She  looked  rather 
tired  and  fagged  out,  but  that  was  nat- 
ural. It  was  not  natural,  however,  that 
after  a  week's  rest  she  did  not  show  any 
improvement.  On  the  contrary,  she  be- 
gan to  look  somewhat  haggard.  She  had 
a  little  irritation  in  the  genito-urinary 

14 


THE  STORY  OF  ROSE  AND  EDWARD 

tract,  increased  frequency  of  micturition, 
etc.,  but  as  this  is  not  unusual  in  newly 
married  women,  it  was  not  considered  of 
sufficient  importance  to  consult  a  physi- 
cian. Things  continued  this  way,  getting 
a  little  better  and  a  little  worse,  until  the 
beginning  of  January.  On  the  fifth  of 
January  she  was  taken  violently  and  dan- 
gerously ill.  Severe  abdominal  pain,  very 
rapid  but  hard  pulse,  and  threatening  col- 
lapse. The  physician  who  was  called  in 
diagnosed  the  case  as  ruptured  tubal  preg- 
nancy. A  consulting  surgeon  was  called 
in  and  it  was  decided  that  in  order  to  save 
the  patient's  life,  an  immediate  operation 
was  necessary.  And  tho  it  was  mid- 
night>  the  patient  was  quickly  removed 
to  's  Private  Hospital  and  oper- 
ated upon.  No  signs  of  extrauterine 
pregnancy  were  discovered,  but  about 
three  and  one-half  pints  of  a  blood- 
stained and  somewhat  purulent  serum 
removed.    An  examination  of  this  serum 

15 


THE   STORY  OF  ROSE   AND  EDWARD 

demonstrated  the  presence  of  millions  of 

gonococci.     We  had  to  deal  here  with  a 

case  of  fulminant  gonococcal  salpingitis. 

Both  tubes  were  thickened  and  inflamed 

and  they  were  removed.     And  so  was  the 

now  useless  uterus.     The  operation  was 

a  "success,"  i.  e.,  the  patient  recovered. 

A  confidential  talk  was  had  with  Mr. 

Edward.     He  searched  his  memory  for 

a  while — yes,  some  two  years  ago  he  had 

a  very  mild  attack  of — ^he  did  not  know 

whether  it  was  gonorrhea  or  something 

due  to  a  "  strain."    It  was  very  mild,  it 

didn't  bother  him  much,  he  went  to  his 

physician  who  gave  him  an  injection  and 

he  was  all  right  in  three  or  four  weeks. 

He  never  attached  much  importance  to 

that  attack  and  it  had  escaped  his  memory 

entirely.     An  examination  of  his  urine, 

however,  demonstrated  the  presence  of 

shreds,  and  while  no  gonococci  could  be 

found  in  the  urine,  they  were  demon- 

16 


THE  STORY  OF  ROSE  AND  EDWARD 

strated  in  the  expressed  secretion  from 
the  prostate  and  seminal  vesicles.  The 
despair  of  Mr.  Edward  at  learning  that 
he  was  the  unwitting  cause  of  the  tragedy 
can  better  be  imagined  than  described. 

Rose  recovered,  but  you  would  hardly 
know  her  if  you  saw  her.  She  aged  ten 
years  in  ten  weeks.  She  is  making  no 
plans,  she  has  no  hopes,  she  is  dreaming 
no  dreams — not  for  the  present  at  any 
rate.  Never  again  will  she  be  the  happy 
Rose  that  she  was  before  she  became  Mrs. 
Edward.  Never  will  her  home  be  glad- 
dened by  the  noise,  romp  and  laughter  of 
little  children. 

Who  is  to  blame?  Nobody.  Rose 
certainly  is  not,  nor  is  Ed.  For  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  had  his  right  hand  cut 
off — and  his  left  one  too — rather  than 
cause  the  woman  whom  he  loved  above  all 
else  in  the  world  any  pain  or  suffering. 
But  he  "  didn't  know,"  and  we  cannot  be 

17 


THE   STORY  OF  ROSE  AND  EDWARD 


blamed  for  things  that  we  do  not  know, 
and  that  we  never  were  told  that  we  ought 
to  know.  Should  we  blame  those  who  in- 
sist that  all  knowledge  of  sexual  matters 
be  kept  away  from  the  people?  Perhaps, 
but  even  they  are  more  to  be  pitied  than 
blamed.  For  they  are  generally  sincere 
in  their  beliefs  and  we  cannot  blame  them 
for  their  ignorance. 

No,  nobody  is  to  blame,  but  it  is  the 
duty  of  those  who  see  the  light  to  spread 
the  knowledge  of  sexual  matters  and  of 
the  dangers  of  venereal  disease  before 
people,  so  that  tragedies  like  those  that 
have  struck  down  our  friends  Rose  and 
Edward  may  become  rare  or  impossible 
in  the  future. 

It  would  be  an  excellent  plan  if  every 
man  who  indulged  in  promiscuous  rela- 
tions, no  matter  how  rarely,  had  himself 
thoroly  examined  before  marrying.  This 
even  if  to  his  knowledge  he  never  had 
gonorrhea.      For   there   are   gonorrheas 

18 


THE   STORY  OF  ROSE   AND  EDWARD 


without  any  subjective  symptoms,  gonor- 
rheas in  which  the  gonococci  remain  dor- 
mant, only  to  awaken  into  virulent  ac- 
tivity at  the  first  opportunity.  And 
newly  married  life  is  such  an  opportunity. 


19 


THE  CASE  OF  LYDIA 
SWINTON 


THE  CASE  OF  LYDIA 
SWINTON 

XT  was  a  cold,  wet,  drizzly  Septem- 
ber evening.  I  had  been  up  the 
previous  night,  had  worked  very 
hard  that  day,  making  about  forty  calls, 
and  when  the  carriage  at  last  stopped  in 
front  of  my  house  I  was  almost  as  glad  as 
my  talkative  coachman  Jim  and  my  mare 
Mollie.  I  eagerly  opened  the  door,  threw 
off  my  things,  and  entered  the  cheerful 
and  comfortable  dining-room,  preparing 
to  pass  a  peaceful  and  restful  evening. 

Alas,  this  as  well  as  several  other  even- 
ings were  destined  to  be  anything  but 
peaceful.  "  Miss  Swinton  was  here  and 
wanted  to  see  you  very  particularly,"  an- 
nounced Sally,  my  housekeeper.  "  What 
was  it?  She  didn't  want  me  to  call,  did 
she? "  "  No.  She  seemed  to  be  very  much 

23 


THE    CASE   OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

worried.  She  would  call  again,  she  said." 
My  feelings  of  peace  and  rest  were  gone 
in  an  instant.  I  knew  it  must  be  some- 
thing serious.  And  I  felt  anxious,  for  I 
loved  Lydia  as  much  as  any  father  could 
love  his  own  child.  And  everybody  who 
knew  the  lithe,  laughing,  highstrung 
Lydia  loved  her.  Innocent  as  a  babe, 
sweet  as  a  rose,  happy  and  free  as  a  bird 
— such  was  Lydia  on  the  surface.  Yet 
one  felt  that  beneath  the  serene  surface 
there  was  an  immense  amount  of  reserve 
force,  which  could  be  at  instant  service 
when  needed. 

And  while  smoking  my  Havana,  I  gave 
rein  to  my  memory  and  let  it  run  riot. 
And  it  was  just  such  an  evening  twenty 
years  ago.  I  was  preparing  to  retire, 
when  a  sudden  violent  ring  of  the  bell 
made  my  hopes  go  dash-dash.  I  was 
taken  at  breakneck  speed  to  Judge  Swin- 
ton's.  It  was  a  hard  labor,  but  in  the 
morning   Lydia   was   brought   into   the 

24 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

world.  And  how  I  watched  her  grow. 
What  a  beautiful,  affectionate  child  she 
was.  I  am  fond  of  all  children  and  they 
fully  reciprocate.  Children  are  much 
quicker  to  discern  true  from  sham  affec- 
tion. But  there  were  few  children  whom 
I  hked  quite  as  much  as  I  did  Lydia  and 
I  don't  think  there  was  anything  I  would 
not  have  done,  if  it  were  necessary  to 
Lydia's  happiness.  How  beautiful,  how 
innocent  she  looked  on  her  graduation 
day.     .     .     . 

There  was  a  sudden  ring  and  in  a  min- 
ute Lydia  stood  before  me.  I  hadn't 
seen  her  for  over  three  months  and  she  was 
greatly  changed.  Her  face  was  wan, 
pale,  and  the  features  were  hard.  I 
pressed  her  icy  hand,  she  looked  at  me  with 
nerv'ous,  restless  eyes — and  burst  out  in 
sobs,  which  shook  her  entire  supple  frame. 
My  heart  felt  tightly  compressed.  I  knew 
I  was  face  to  face  with  a  genuine  tragedy. 
I  knew  my  favorite  was  in  deadly  peril. 

25 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDTA    SWINTON 

And  still  I  felt  that  I  would  be  powerless 
to  save  her. 

My  suspicions  proved  correct.  Jim 
Dexter,  a  conscienceless,  polished  scoun- 
drel, a  well-known  man  about  town,  who 
professed  love  for  her  and  was  to  become 
her  fiance,  took  advantage  of  her  childish 
innocence,  and  I  was  to  relieve  her.  And 
if  I  didn't,  she  swore,  before  God,  she 
would  take  her  life.  And  everybody  who 
knew  Lydia,  knew  that  she  always  meant 
what  she  said,  and  now  she  meant  it  in 
deadly,  deathly  earnest. 

And  still  I  could  not  say:  yes.  I 
pleaded  with  her,  saying  that  at  the 
proper  time  I  would  take  her  to  a  private 
home  and  the  child  would  afterward  be 
taken  good  care  of.  She  listened  as  one 
dazed.  She  did  not  argue.  She  gave  me 
the  ultimatum:  Either  to  relieve  her  or 
to  see  her  dead.  I  endeavored  to  show  her 
that  she  was  asking  the  impossible,  that 
I  could  not  agree  to  commit  murder.    At 

26 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

this  she  smiled  a  bitter  smile — I  shall  never 
forget  it.  She  could  not  see  it  that  way. 
I  still  tried  to  persuade  her — but  suddenly 
she  rose  and  without  saying  a  word,  she 
opened  the  door  and  was  gone. 

The  fitful,  fearful  nightmare  that  I 
had  that  night — the  terrible  struggle,  the 
fear  for  that  beautiful  young  life,  the  re- 
proaches of  my  conscience — may  I  for- 
ever after  be  saved  from  such  a  dilemma. 

I  didn't  see  Lydia  for  a  week.  I  was 
too  busy  with  urgent  calls  to  allow  myself 
to  call  at  the  Swinton's ;  besides  I  thought 
that  my  presence  might  be  painful  to 
Lydia.  I  hoped — tho  I  dared  not  believe 
it — that  she  might  have  become  reconciled 
to  her  fate  and  let  events  take  their 
course.    Alas ! 

I  had  come  home  pretty  well  exhausted, 
preparing  to  take  it  easy,  when  Sally 
rushed  in,  announcing  that  the  Swinton's 
servant,  Thomas,  was  here  and  wanted  me 
to  come  at  once,  as  IMiss  Lydia  was  dying. 

27 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

My  heart  stood  still,  my  blood  chilled. 
The  tragedy  was  approaching,  the  trag- 
edy was  here  I  By  a  strong  effort  I  pulled 
myself  together,  threw  all  the  possible 
antidotes  and  a  stomach  pump  into  my 
bag,  and  was  off.  I  do  not  remember 
how  I  got  to  the  Swintons — the  first  thing 
I  remember,  I  stood  before  Lydia,  who 
was  flushed  scarlet,  tossing  about  all  over 
the  bed  and  in  high  delirium.  It  did  not 
take  me  long  to  diagnose  belladonna  poi- 
soning. The  parents,  very  simple,  old- 
fashioned  folks,  suspected  nothing.  They 
noticed  Lydia  was  feeling  badly  for  sev- 
eral weeks,  the  last  few  days  she  stayed  in 
her  room,  and  when  the  maid  went  in  some 
half  hour  ago  to  give  Lydia  a  cup  of  beef 
tea,  she  found  her  in  this  condition. 

I  had  to  do  some  hard  thinking.  I  gave 
her  a  hypodermic  of  apomorphine — I 
might  in  my  anxiety  have  given  her  too 
much ;  she  vomited  severely  and  profusely. 
I  applied  ice  to  her  head  and  very  soon 

28 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 


she  began  to  regain  consciousness.  I 
wanted  to  administer  some  stimulants — 
she  closed  her  jaws  tightly  and  would  not 
take  a  drop.  There  began  quite  a  battle. 
Finally  she  had  to  yield — she  was  so  weak. 
She  was  not  too  weak,  however,  to  whis- 
per in  my  ear:  "  Doctor,  you  may  save  my 
life  now,  but  I  swear  that  you  will  not 
have  the  chance  to  save  it  a  second  time." 
And  I  knew  she  was  as  good  as  her  word. 
How  could  one  permit  this  highstrung, 
beautiful  girl  to  go  to  destruction?  "  My 
dear  child,"  I  whispered  to  her,  "  let  me 
save  you  now,  I  will  do  anything  you  want 
me  to."  She  became  very  meek  and  al- 
lowed me  to  do  anything  that  I  considered 
necessary. 

In  about  an  hour  I  thought  it  safe  to 
leave  her.  I  was  putting  on  my  coat,  I 
remember,  when  a  sudden,  sharp,  half- 
stifled  cry  made  me  turn  quickly  to  Ly- 
dia.  At  the  end  of  about  fifteen  minutes 
I  was  no  longer  in  doubt.    Lydia  was  hav- 

29 


THE  CASE  OF  LYDIA  SWINTON 

ing  labor  pains.  The  shock  of  the  poison, 
the  severe  vomiting  and  retching,  the  gen- 
eral nervous  shock,  were  having  their  ef- 
fect. Lydia  also  began  to  suspect  what 
the  trouble  was  and  her  face  became  a 
picture  of  terror.  I  had  to  act  quickly. 
I  turned  to  the  parents.  "  Lydia  is  dan- 
gerously ill,"  I  said.  "  She  may  die.  She 
has  a  bad  abdominal  abscess  and  must  be 
operated  on  at  once.  It  would  take  too 
long  for  me  to  go  home  and  get  my  in- 
struments and  come  back;  besides  I  have 
not  the  same  f  acilites  here.  And  she  will 
have  to  be  watched  very  carefully  for  the 
first  few  days,  which  I  can  do  better  at 
my  home.    I  will  take  her  with  me." 

My  word  was  law  with  the  Swintons. 
They  knew  that  in  no  hands  was  Lydia 
as  safe  as  in  mine.  In  a  few  minutes, 
Lydia,  securely  wrapped,  propped  up  by 
pillows,  was  resting  in  her  father's  closed 
carriage;  a  short,  wild  ride,  and  we  were 
home.    I  did  everything  that  was  neces- 

30 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

sary  for  her  safety  and  she  made  an  un- 
eventful recovery.  She  went  home,  and 
her  parents  never  suspected  anything. 
She  is  now  a  happy  wife  and  a  happy 
mother. 

What  became  of  Jim  Dexter?  Lydia 
gave  him  an  ultimatum.  He  must  leave 
town  forever  or  she  would  shoot  him. 
And  he  knew  that  Lydia  was  not  to  be 
joked  with;  and  he  left  town  just  one 
week  after  Lydia  left  my  home. 

When  "  The  Case  of  Lydia  Swinton "  ap- 
peared in  the  Critic  and  Guide,  I  received  the 
following  letter  from  Dr.  W.  C.  Cooper  of  Cleves, 
O.,  editor  of  the  Medical  Gleaner: 

"  Dr.  Robinson: 

"  Your  case  of  Lydia  Swinton  recalls  a  case  I 
had  thirty-five  years  ago.  I  was  practicing  at  the 
time  in  Indianapolis.  The  young  lady  in  the  case 
was  the  daughter  of  a  prominent  lawyer.  She 
was  highly  cultured,  variously  accomplished,  and 
charming  in  person  to  the  limit  of  imaginative  pos- 
sibility.    Her  lover  was  a  banker's  son,  a  hand- 

81 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 

some  fellow  and  a  high-roller.  They  were  entirely 
devoted  to  each  other,  and  were  engaged  to  be 
married  in*  three  months.  They  got  too  intimate, 
and  she  came  to  me  for  help.  I  had  been  their 
family  physician,  and  she  never  suspected  that  I 
would  hesitate  to  help  her  out  of  her  trouble.  Of 
course  I  refused,  and  gave  her  the  regulation  little 
preachment  which  (theoretically)  fits  such  cases. 
I  told  her  no  respectable  physician  would  inter- 
fere in  these  cases,  and  that  the  thing  to  do  was 
to  let  nature  take  its  course,  etc.  She  would  die 
before  she  would  go  to  a  professional  abortionist, 
or  to  any  physician  but  me.  Her  pleadings  for 
help  were  pitiful  indeed.  Every  time  she  came 
back  (which  she  did  several  times),  she  ended  her 
beseechings  with  a  suicidal  vow  contingent  on  my 
continued  refusal.  The  last  time  she  called  she 
simply  said :  "  Doctor,  this  is  the  last  appeal  for 
merciful  help."  I  shook  my  head,  tho  I  could  not 
keep  back  my  tears.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
agonized  look  as  she  turned  and  went  out.  On  the 
next  morning  the  papers  contained  a  sensational 
account  of  her  death.  Her  body  had  been  found  in 
the  middle  of  White  River,  close  to  the  bridge. 
As  her  home  relations  had  always  been  pleasant, 
and  there  had  been  no  trouble  between  her  and  her 

S2 


THE    CASE    OF    LYDIA    SWINTON 


lover,  suicide  was  excluded  from  the  list  of  prob- 
abilities. It  was  concluded  that  there  had  been 
foul  play.  A  careful  investigation  developed  ho 
trustworthy  facts,  and  the  case  added  itself  to  the 
long  list  of  tragic  mysteries.  I  wonder  if  it  is 
Bot  a  greater  sin  sometimes  not  to  help  a  girl  out 
of  this  kind  of  trouble,  than  it  would  be  to  help 
her." 

Proper  sexual  instructions  at  the  proper  time 
would  save  thousands  of  families  from  heartbreak- 
ing disgrace  and  thousands  of  young  girls  from  a 
suicide's  grave. 


33 


THE    CASE    OF    IRENE 
LARRABEE   WEST 


THE  CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRA- 
BEE    WEST 

XHAVE  been  the  Larrabees'  fam- 
ily physician  for  many  years.  I 
pulled  little  Irene  thru  an  attack 
of  diphtheria,  scarlet  fever  and  measles. 
That  was  before  she  reached  her  seventh 
year.  Since  then  she  was  never  sick.  She 
became  very  robust  and  loved  outdoor 
sports.  She  was  normal,  healthy,  not  high 
strung,  and  looked  at  life  with  prosaic 
eyes.  She  was  a  passionate  novel  reader. 
At  18  she  became  engaged  to  a  certain 
Mr.  West,  a  lawyer  from  Atlanta,  Ga., 
who  attended  to  her  father's  affairs  in  that 
section  of  the  country  and  who  came  on 
occasional  visits  to  the  Larrabees.  At  19 
she  married.  We  were  sorry  to  lose  her, 
to  miss  her  prosaic,  healthy  face  and 
cheerful  laugh,  but  she  left  her  paternal 

37 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

a 

home  with  a  hght  heart.  She  wanted  to 
be  a  mother.  She  loved  children.  She 
promised  to  come  home  on  frequent  visits. 
She  didn't. 

To-day  I  was  called  in  to  see  her — ^to 
see  Mrs.  Irene  West,  nee  Larrabee.  Is 
it  really  one  and  the  same  person?  It  is 
hard  to  believe.  And  still  it  is  so.  It  is 
nearly  five  years  since  I  saw  her  last — 
when  she  left  for  her  honeymoon  and  went 
to  live  with  her  husband  in  Atlanta;  and 
I  have  but  seldom  heard  of  her.  Mrs. 
Larrabee  told  me  that  she  heard  from  her 
daughter  but  rarely,  that  she  was  not  feel- 
ing very  well  and  she  was  afraid  she  was 
not  very  happy.  Mr.  West  was  so  nice 
and  kind  and  gentlemanly  and  she 
couldn't  account  for  it. 

I  spent  about  half  an  hour  with  Mrs, 
West  and  I  could  account  for  everything. 
When  I  came  in  Mr.  West  called  me  aside 
and  told  me  he  thought  his  wife  was  very 
sick,  and  what  was  worse,  he  thought  she 

38 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

was  addicted  to  morphine.  I  was  shocked 
and  somewhat  incredulous.  I  knew  Irene 
was  not  one  to  Hghtly  become  addicted  to 
anything.  She  had  never  tasted  a  drop 
of  alcohol,  had  never  been  given  an 
opiate,  and  there  must  have  been  some 
very  peculiar  reasons  to  have  made  her  a 
morphine  habitue. 

I  examined  her.  Her  legs  and  arms 
were  full  of  needle  pricks,  the  face  bore  a 
suiFering,  humihated  expression.  I  gave 
her  a  thoro  gynecologic  examination ;  then 
I  had  a  confidential  talk  with  her  hus- 
band, which  made  the  cold  sweat  come  out 
on  him  quite  profusely,  and  what  he  sus- 
pected, and  what  several  doctors  hinted  at, 
became  a  certainty.  Some  ten  years  ago 
a  gonorrheal  urethritis.  He  treated  it  for 
a  year  or  more  and  thought  he  was  radi- 
cally cured.  He  remained  continent  for 
over  a  year  before  getting  married — the 
entire  time  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Lar- 
rabee. 

89 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

About  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  .wed- 
ding she  commenced  to  complain  of  cer- 
tain symptoms,  which,  to  me,  pointed  to 
an  acute  gonorrheal  infection.  A  Dr. 
G.,  who  had  been  the  West  family  physi- 
cian for  years,  and  in  whom  Mr.  West's 
mother  had  great  confidence,  was  called 
in.  I  investigated  that  doctor  and  found 
that  he  was  an  illiterate  ignoramus.  He 
had  never  attended  any  college.  He  or- 
dered some  strong  bichloride  of  mercury 
injections.  The  condition  became  worse. 
Soon  the  pains  became  very  severe,  both 
in  the  bladder  and  in  the  sides.  Then 
Dr.  G.,  at  his  wits'  ends,  began  to 
feed  Mrs.  West  on  morphine  and  give 
her  morphine  injections.  He  treated 
her  in  this  way  for  a  year.  Her  con- 
dition gradually  became  aggravated. 
Finally  it  was  decided  to  call  in  another 
doctor.  She  was  curetted  and  curetted 
again.  Her  condition  gradually  became 
worse.    Double  salpingitis  and  oophoritis 

40 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

was  diagnosed;  the  condition  became  so 
critical  that  an  operation  was  decided 
upon.  The  seriousness  of  the  operation 
was  fully  explained.  Then  Irene  re- 
belled. She  said  if  she  was  to  undergo  a 
serious  operation  she  wanted  to  have  it 
done  at  home  and  wanted  her  own  doctor 
to  do  it.  And  here  she  was.  Yes,  an 
examination  corroborated  the  absolute 
necessity  of  an  immediate  operation.  She 
had  to  become  asexualized,  and  her  intense 
maternal  instinct  was  never  to  become 
satisfied,  her  hunger  for  a  child  was  never 
to  be  appeased. 

She  was  operated  on  two  days  later. 
"  The  operation  was  a  success,"  but  the 
patient  hovered  between  life  and  death 
for  seven  or  eight  weeks.  She  is  in  fair 
health  now,  but  is  constantly  brooding  and 
melancholic.  Somehow  or  other  the  true 
cause  of  her  condition,  which  for  five 
years  was  a  secret  to  her,  is  a  secret  no 
longer.    How  she  found  out,  nobody  can 

41 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

tell.  But  there  is  a  marked  change  in  her 
relation  to  her  husband.  He  feels  guilty 
and  downhearted.  Her  life  is  ruined  for- 
ever, and  the  household  can  never  be  a 
happy  household. 

It  would  be  very  daring  to  suggest  that 
fathers  should  demand  certificates  of  per- 
fect health  from  their  future  sons-in-law, 
but  I  hope  the  time  will  come  when  men 
will  make  sure  that  they  are  sexually 
healthy  and  that  their  future  wives  run 
no  risk  of  becoming  either  infected,  or 
what  is  almost  as  bad,  sexual  neuras- 
thenics. 

Irene's  parents  have  still  no  suspicion 
of  the  cause  of  her  deplorable  condition, 
and  feel  guilty  that  their  daughter  should 
have  given  poor  Mr.  West  so  much  trou- 
ble and  caused  him  so  much  expense.  I 
was  in  to-day  to  see  Irene  and  her  mother 
chid  her  gently  and  lovingly  for  being 
"  such  a  burden  "  to  Mr.  West.  "  And 
such  a  healthy  girl  as  she  was!    You  re- 

42 


CASE  OF  IRENE  LARRABEE  WEST 

member,  Doctor.  From  her  seventh  year 
to  the  day  of  her  marriage  she  had  not  a 
day's  sickness.  Married  life  agrees  with 
some  people,  with  others  it  does  not." 
Irene  merely  smiled.  A  sad,  cheerless 
smile.  With  her  craving  for  morphine  she 
struggles  valiantly,  and  I  trust  that  now, 
when  she  does  not  need  it  to  quiet  her 
pain,  she  will  overcome  the  habit  entirely. 
Doctors  should  not  be  too  sentimental, 
but  it  hurts  to  see  a  healthy,  cheerful  girl 
converted  into  a  ruin,  into  an  unhappy 
person, — neither  man  nor  woman, — thru 
ignorance. 


43 


ONE   OF 
LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE 
DRAMAS 

^^^^HE  facts  can  be  stated  briefly. 
^  )  She  married  at  twenty.  She  was 
^™^  very  happy.  He  was  supremely 
happy.  At  twenty-one  she  had  a  boy,  a 
big  bouncing  boy.  Labor  was  tedious, 
extremely  difficult,  but  all  ended  well. 
Their  life  acquired  a  new  interest  and 
they  felt  happier  still. 

A  year  later,  almost  to  a  day,  she  had 
another  boy.  Two  years  later  another 
child  came — this  time  a  girl.  They  were 
very  glad:  they  wanted  a  girl.  She 
didn't  get  over  this  confinement  as  well 
as  she  did  the  first  two.  She  was  not  ex- 
actly sick,  but  she  lost  some  of  her  spirit 
and  buoyancy.  Attending  to  three  chil- 
dren was  not  quite  so  easy  as  to  attend  to 
one.  And  then  the  cost  of  living  had  in- 
creased   considerably    during    the    four 

47 


ONE   OF   LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

years  of  their  married  life,  while  the  hus- 
band's salary  had  not. 

They  thought  that  three  children  would 
be  enough  for  several  years  to  come. 
She  went  to  her  family  physician,  who 
had  attended  her  in  her  three  confine- 
ments and  asked  him  if  he  could  not  give 
her  something  she  should  not  get  in  the 
"  family  way  "  so  soon.  No,  he  could  not 
give  her  anything.  He  did  not  believe  in 
going  against  nature,  etc.,  etc.  The 
truth  of  the  matter  is,  the  good  doctor 
was  ignorant,  and  could  not  have  given 
the  poor  woman  anything,  if  he  had 
wanted  to. 

And  so  in  about  eighteen  months 
another  child  came.  It  must  be  sadly 
recorded  that  there  was  no  joy  in  either 
the  maternal  or  the  paternal  breast,  when 
the  new  arrival  made  its  appearance. 
Rather  there  was  sorrow  and  grief  for  a 
month  or  two.  But  finally  they  became 
reconciled  to  the  situation.     "We  don't 

48 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

want  them  to  come,  but  when  they  are 
here,  we  must  do  for  them  the  best  we 
can,  and  we  wouldn't  want  to  lose  them 
for  the  world."  They  now  began  to  use 
preventive  measures,  a  knowledge  of 
which  the  wife  acquired  from  an  obliging 
friend.  The  measures  were  neither  quite 
effective  nor  quite  harmless ;  they  affected 
the  health  of  both  husband  and  wife,  and 
finally  she  was  "  caught  "  again.  In  less 
than  three  years  after  the  fourth  child,  the 
fifth  one  came  upon  the  scene.  It  was  a 
weak,  puny  child,  probably  because  the 
mother  felt  weak  and  exhausted  during 
almost  the  entire  pregnancy,  while  her 
mind  was  restless  and  her  spirit  rebellious. 
Also  for  the  first  time  she  had  a  severe 
post-partum  hemorrhage.  It  was,  how- 
ever, controlled  after  packing  the  uterus 
with  iodoform  gauze,  under  an  anesthetic. 
After  a  rather  prolonged  convalescence, 
Mrs.  B.  got  up  and  this  is  what  she  told 
her  husband:    "John,  if  I  have  another 

49 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

child  before  the  end  of  ten  years,  I  will 
kill  myself.'*  And  she  said  it  as  if  she 
meant  it.  And  John  thought  that  she  had 
good  reasons  not  to  want  any  more  chil- 
dren for  some  time  to  come.  Only  twenty- 
eight  years  old  and  five  children — that  is 
enough.  So  thought  John  and  he  de- 
termined to  keep  himself  well  in  hand. 
Their  preventive  measures  had  proven  in- 
effective, and  so  the  only  positive  remedy 
was — to  abstain.  And  he  did.  And  be- 
fore a  year  passed,  John's  dearly  beloved 
wife  was  once  more  pregnant.  It  was 
outrageous  that  it  should  have  happened 
— but  it  happened.  It  always  happens. 
The  mischief  was  done. 

She  went  to  her  doctor — ^the  same  old 
family  physician  who  had  brought  all  her 
children  and  herself  into  the  world.  As 
she  was  only  "  a  couple  of  weeks  over," 
she  thought  he  could  do  something  for  her, 
give  her  a  little  medicine  or  do  something 
else.    He  told  her  to  try  a  hot  foot  bath 

60 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

and  with  this  cold  piece  of  comfort  he  dis- 
missed her.  She  left,  sick  at  heart,  but 
determined. 

And  now  every  fake  and  fraud  adver- 
tised in  the  newspapers,  every  female  reg- 
ulator, every  kind  of  pennyroyal  pill, 
found  its  way  into  the  home  of  Mrs.  B. 
The  only  result  for  Mrs.  B.  was  an  irri- 
tated and  inflamed  stomach,  so  that  she 
could  hardly  retain  any  food  at  all,  and 
she  lost  about  twenty  pounds  in  weight. 
John  looked  on  with  deep  grief;  he  tried 
to  protest  mildly  against  her  using  all  the 
poisonous  stuff,  but  his  remonstrances 
only  irritated  her.  As  John  told  me,  she 
did  not  seem  to  love  him  any  more ;  in  fact, 
his  presence  seemed  to  annoy  her.  Those 
who  know  something  about  sexual  psy- 
chology will  have  no  difficutly  in  under- 
standing Mrs.  B's  feelings.  It  often  hap- 
pens in  such  cases  that  the  deepest  love  is 
turned  into  the  deepest  aversion.  It  is  as 
a  rule  only  temporary,  but  it  is  real  while 

51 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

■^^— ■  ■■       ■■■■■■■  I  I  I  ■■  ■    I    I   ■■  mil  II  I  7**^^^ 

it  lasts.    And  the  swallowing  of  pills,  cap- 
sules, oils  and  tinctures  went  on. 

One  day  she  asked  John  for  fifty  dol- 
lars and  left  the  house.  She  came  back 
towards  evening.  She  said  nothing.  She 
suffered  badly  that  night.  Next  day  she 
began  to  bleed,  and  it  kept  up  for  two, 
three  days.  Then  it  stopped.  Then  she 
got  feverish,  developed  pain  in  the  abdo- 
men, which  became  progressively  worse. 
A  physcian  was  called  in,  and  the  poor 
woman  w^as  found  to  suffer  from  septic 
peritonitis.  The  uterus  was  emptied,  a 
slight  improvement  set  in,  but  she  began 
to  lose  ground  rapidly,  and  in  ten  days — 
Mrs.  B.  was  buried.  Who  the  man  or  the 
woman  was  who  performed  or  rather  at- 
tempted to  perform  the  abortion  will 
never  be  known,  for  Mrs.  B.,  when  asked 
by  the  attending  physician  to  give  the 
name  of  the  guilty  bungler,  gave  him  such 
a  look  of  scorn  and  contempt,  that  he  did 
not  attempt  to  question  her  any  further. 

52 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S   LITTLE   DRAMAS 

And  so  the  five  children  were  made 
motherless,  to  grow  up  without  a  mother's 
love,  without  a  mother's  care.  And  a  man 
is  walking  about  ashy-colored,  sunken- 
eyed,  distraught,  half-dead.  Does  he  con- 
sider himself  partly  or  wholly  responsible 
for  his  beloved  wife's  death?  Who  knows? 
But  a  happy  home  has  been  forever  de- 
stroyed. Destroyed  by  the  ignorance  of 
the  family  physician,  who  did  not  know 
how  or  did  not  care  to  help  the  poor  wife, 
destroyed  by  the  ignorance,  which  makes 
it  a  crime  to  sell  or  to  give  away  any  con- 
ception preventives,  destroyed  by  the  ig- 
norance and  prudery  which  make  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  regulation  of  reproduction 
problem  a  shocking  subject  even  in  med- 
ical journals. 

And  when  you  think  that  this  little 
drama,  this  heartrending  tragedy,  has 
its  counterpart  in  every  city  in  the  United 
States,  when  you  think  that  almost  daily, 
yes,  daily,  young  mothers  are  carried  to 

53 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S  LITTLE  DRAMAS 

untimely  graves — the  death  certificate 
does  not  always  state  the  true  cause  of 
death — and  children  are  orphaned  and 
husbands  are  widowed,  and  misery  is 
spread  broadcast,  and  all  thru  ignorance, 
dark,  cruel  ignorance,  you  cannot  help 
feeling  impatient  and  rebellious,  and  you 
cannot  help  feeling  that  this  world  was 
all  bungled  in  the  making,  and  that  you 
could  have  made  a  better,  a  far  better  and 
happier  world,  if  you  had  been  the  author 
of  the  job. 

Ignorance  is  the  root  of  all  evil. 
Broadly  speaking,  all  human  misery,  all 
human  suffering,  is  due  to  ignorance. 
And  nobody  in  particular  is  to  blame.  The 
ignorant  ones  are  not  to  blame — we  can 
only  pity  them — for  they  either  can't  help 
or  don't  know  how  to  help  their  ignorance. 
Often  they  do  not  even  know  that  they 
are  ignorant.  And  even  those  who  make 
it  a  point  deliberately  to  keep  the  people 
in  ignorance,  who  make  it  a  crime  to  ac- 

54 


ONE   OF  LIFE'S  LITTLE   DRAMAS 

quire  knowledge  on  a  certain  subject,  are 
not  always  to  blame,  for  very  often  they 
are  convinced  that  what  they  are  doing  is 
for  the  benefit  of  mankind,  that  the 
knowledge  they  forbid  would  only  prove 
injurious  to  the  people.  And  can  you 
blame  men  who  are  sincerely  convinced 
that  their  work — no  matter  how  perni- 
cious from  our  standpoint — is  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind?  No.  We  can  only 
educate  them. 

Education  is  our  only  weapon.  And  it 
is  of  no  use  getting  impatient.  Each  one 
has  to  do  his  duty  according  to  his  light 
and  things  will  work  out  all  right  in  the 
end.  I  know  that  the  end  sometimes 
seems  far — far  away  in  infinity — but  if 
you  know  of  any  better  and  quicker  way, 
than  educational  propaganda,  to  reach  the 
desired  end,  I  wish  you  would  impart  me 
your  knowledge. 

I  should  be  truly  grateful. 


ss 


THE 
STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 


THE 
STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

^^'HEIR  parents  had  been  next- 
i  J  door  neighbors  before  they  were 
^^^  born.  They  grew  up  together. 
In  their  games  and  plays,  Betty  was 
always  the  queen,  and  Bob  was  the  faith- 
ful, loyal,  obedient  slave.  He  looked  up 
to  her  as  to  a  superior  being.  He  con- 
sidered her  much  smarter  than  himself — 
and  she  was.  They  went  to  school  to- 
gether. Bobby  carried  Betty's  books  and 
lunch  basket,  and  Betty  helped  Bobby 
with  his  lessons.  He  was  especially  bad 
in  'rithmetic,  a  subject  in  which  Betty  was 
particularly  good.  Betty  was  a  cute  tiny 
little  thing.  Bob  was  enormous ;  he  looked 
a  giant  beside  her  and  it  was  curious  to 
see  the  midget  explain  to  the  giant  prob- 
lems in  mathematics  or  mooted  points  in 
geography.    They  were  graduated  from 

59 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

public  school  and  entered  high-school. 
The  studies  were  becoming  easier  for 
Betty,  they  were  becoming  harder  for 
Bob.  But  Betty's  parents  were  compara- 
tively poor,  Bob's  were  rich.  The  law  of 
compensation,  if  law  it  may  be  called, 
does  sometimes  hold  good,  tho  not  so  very 
often;  certainly  not  so  often  as  Emerson 
would  have  us  believe.  Tho  Betty  helped 
Bob  all  she  could,  the  studies  were  becom- 
ing irksome  to  him  and  while  in  his  third 
year  he  left  school.  He  knew  he  did  not 
have  to  study  for  a  living. 

He  entered  his  father's  business,  where 
he  showed  a  good  deal  of  ability  and  even 
initiative.  The  business  was  growing  and 
he  was  sent  out  to  San  Francisco  to  open 
up  a  branch.  He  stayed  away  two  years. 
He  became  so  fascinated  with  the  game  of 
money-making  that  he  suffered  no  pangs 
of  nostalgia,  and  to  his  parents'  request  to 
come  home  for  a  visit,  he  replied  that  he 
was  too  busy,  that  he  could  not  leave  the 

60 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

responsibilities  of  the  office  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  subordinates.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
purely  business  that  held  him  a  captive  in 
San  Francisco.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  began  to  "  live."  He  began  to  sow 
his  wild  oats.  Brought  up  in  a  strict 
puritanical  environment,  he  was  shy  and 
retiring,  especially  in  the  presence  of  the 
gentle  sex,  and  at  first  he  lived  an  almost 
secluded  life.  The  attractions  of  the  city 
of  the  Golden  Gate  made  no  impress  on 
him.  The  taunts  and  remarks  about  his 
monastic  life  left  him  undisturbed.  But 
gradually  his  business  acquaintances  and 
"  friends  "  who  were  anxious  to  help  him 
spend  his  money,  prevailed  upon  him  to 
join  the  clubs  of  the  jeunesse  doree,  and 
before  he  was  fully  aware  of  it  he  was  in 
the  very  vortex  of  San  Francisco's  gay 
life.  He  was  a  puritan  and  when  a  puri- 
tan plunges  into  the  so-called  gay  life, 
there  is  no  stopping  him.  He  goes  to  the 
limit  and  drinks  the  cup  to  the  dregs. 

61 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

While  his  days  were  devoted  to  busi- 
ness, the  nights  were  spent  in  revelry  with 
'Frisco's  demi-monde,  and  the  chorus 
girls  found  him  a  good  thing.  Betty,  and 
Bob's  mother  would  certainly  have  been 
slightly  astonished  had  they  been  able  to 
see  in  what  company  their  shy,  awkward, 
church-going  Bob  was  spending  his  even- 
ings. Luckily  neither  Betty  nor  his  par- 
ents had  any  intimation  of  Bob's  meta- 
morphosis after  sundown.  The  sleepless 
nights  spent  in  debauchery  began  to  tell 
even  on  Bob's  robust  frame,  when  he  was 
suddenly  taken  ill;  he  at  first  paid  no  at- 
tention to  it,  for  he  was  told  laughingly 
by  his  friends  that  the  illness  was  not  a 
serious  one ;  but  it  soon  became  very  pain- 
ful and  it  necessitated  his  staying  in  bed 
— ^flat  on  his  back — for  over  four  weeks. 

An  acute  illness  or  an  accident  is  some- 
times a  great  blessing;  it  proves  an  im- 
portant turning  point  in  the  hves  of  some 
people.    I  know  people  who  have  learned 

62 


THE   STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

to  think,  thought  seriously  for  the  first 
time,  while  on  their  back.  Compulsory 
physical  inactivity  often  acts  as  a  cerebral 
stimulant. 

Bob's  illness  made  him  disgusted  with 
the  life  he  had  been  leading  and  every- 
thing would  have  been  all  right,  had  not 
the  disease  left  a  legacy,  which  was  des- 
tined to  have  an  important  influence  on 
Bob's  future  life. 

Bob's  father  was  getting  old,  he  began 
to  ail,  and  he  wrote  to  his  son  that  his 
presence  was  more  important  at  home,  in 
the  main  office,  than  in  San  Francisco. 
Bob  was  glad  to  return.  He  had  had 
enough  of  gay  life.  He  left  a  competent 
manager  and  hied  to  his  paternal  roof. 
Among  those  who  came  out  to  meet  him 
was  Betty.  He  looked  at  her  with  delight 
and  amazement.  He  always  had  a  high 
admiration  for  her — perhaps  also  a  httle 
fear — and  now  to  the  feeling  of  admira- 
tion was  added  that  of  a  sincere  and  pas- 
es 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

sionate  love.  Betty  had  gotten  thru  with 
college,  life  was  smihng  to  her  and  she,  in 
the  happiness  of  young  healthy  woman- 
hood, was  smiling  on  the  world.  She  was 
still  a  head  shorter  than  Bob,  but  intel- 
lectually and  morally — she  was  head  and 
shoulders  above  him.  Bob  felt  it.  He 
even  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  not  quite 
worthy  of  her.  But  where  is  the  man  who 
will  relinquish  the  woman  he  loves  merely 
because  she  is  purer  than  he  physically,  or 
superior  to  him  mentally  and  morally? 
And,  besides.  Bob  had  imbibed  the  gener- 
ally prevalent  notion  that  money  covers 
up  all  imperfections.  Bob  was  rich,  Betty 
was  poor.  If  he  married  her,  she  would 
lead  a  life  of  comfort  and  luxury;  if  he 
did  not,  Betty  would  have  to  work,  to 
teach  high-school  or  something  like  that. 
It  did  not  cost  him  much  endeavor  to  con- 
vince himself  that  in  asking  Betty  to  be- 
come his  wife  he  was  doing  a  charitable, 
nay,  a  very  noble  act. 

64) 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

He  proposed.  Betty  expected  he 
would,  and  she  accepted  him.  Not  be- 
cause the  prospect  of  a  care-free,  luxuri- 
ous life  lured  her.  No.  Betty  was  not 
exactly  that  kind  of  a  girl.  Ideal  girls 
are  still  met  with  in  real  life.  They  are 
not  numerous,  but  we  can  still  encounter 
them,  even  outside  the  covers  of  senti- 
mental novels.  Betty  accepted  him  be- 
cause she  rather  liked  him.  She  was  used 
to  him.  She  knew  he  was  a  good  and 
kind  hearted  fellow.  And  that  was  the 
principal  thing  in  a  husband.  Betty  was 
old  fashioned  enough  to  believe,  that  a 
kind  heart  was  more  important  than  a 
brilliant  head.  And  while  she  knew  that 
Bob  would  never  discover  gunpowder, 
she  also  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  that 
he  was  a  man  to  lean  on.  And  every 
woman,  be  she  ever  so  intellectual,  will 
readily  exchange  all  her  abstract  knowl- 
edge, all  her  independence,  for  the  se- 
curity of  married  life,  for  a  steadfast  man 

65 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

with  whom  she  can  f rolick  in  fair  and  sun- 
shiny days  and  on  whom  she  can  lean 
with  assuredness  in  dark  and  stormy 
weather.  And  perhaps — who  knows? — 
she  was  also  unconsciously  influenced  by 
Bob's  constantly  growing  fortune.  One 
may  not  be  aware  of  it,  but  a  life  entirely 
free  from  material  cares  does  appeal 
powerfully  to  one's  innermost  soul.  Bob 
was  accepted  and  the  wedding  was  cele- 
brated with  great  pomp  and  extrava- 
gance. The  vulgarity  of  it  grated  slightly 
on  Betty,  but  she  was  not  the  master  of 
ceremonies. 

Five  years  passed.  Bob's  father,  old 
Mr.  Carey,  has  been  dead  for  over  two 
years  and  Bob  is  the  sole  owner  of  the 
tremendous  business,  which  has  been 
growing  steadily  and  has  put  him  in  the 
millionaire  class.  Are  Bob  and  Betty 
happy?  Apparently.  Perhaps  not  quite 
so  happy  as  during  the  first  two  years.  A 
vague,  indefinable  shadow  seems  to  have 

66 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 


crept  into  the  luxurious  household.  A 
little  damper  seems  to  have  been  thrown 
on  the  effusiveness  of  Bob's  feelings.  In 
fact,  tho  he  would  not  at  first  confess  it, 
he  feels  a  grudge  against  Betty.  What 
is  the  matter?  Has  he  tired  of  her?  No. 
But  Bob  wants  an  heir,  a  male  heir,  to 
his  growing  fortune,  and  Betty  is  not 
giving  him  any  heirs.  In  fact  she  is  not 
having  any  children  at  all.  She  feels 
guilty,  poor  thing.  For  equally  with  Bob 
she  is  sure  that  it  is  she  who  is  to  blame. 
It  certainly  could  not  be  Bob's  fault. 
Such  a  strong,  powerful  man,  in  such 
perfect  health  .  .  .  while  Betty  is 
rather  slight  and  dehcate;  tho  nothing 
seems  to  be  the  matter  with  her. 

He  hated  to  broach  the  subject,  but  he 
finally  got  together  enough  courage  to  do 
so.  He  wants  her  to  be  treated.  Perhaps 
a  little  treatment  at  the  hands  of  a  promi- 
nent physician  would  bring  matters 
around  all  right.    He  heard  of  such  cases. 

67 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

Tho  with  a  heavy  heart  Betty  agrees. 
What  will  a  wife  not  do  to  satisfy  her 
husband,  especially  where  she  thinks  she 
is  not  entirely  fulfilling  her  part  of  the 
marital  contract?  And  besides,  she  does 
want  to  have  children,  she  passionately, 
longingly  wants  to  have  them.  Bob  does 
not  fill  up  her  entire  life.  Every  year  the 
void  is  greater.  And  she  wants  children 
to  occupy  her  heart,  her  mind,  her  time. 
She  knows  that  within  her  is  a  deep  well 
of  maternal  love,  which  is  going  shame- 
fully to  waste. 

And  so  one  morning  she  and  Bob  drive 
over  to  the  most  fashionable  gynecologist 
in  town.  Prof.  J.  Bob  explains  the  matter 
in  private  and  tells  the  doctor  that  money 
is  no  object.  He  does  not  want  to  know 
what  the  fee  is;  let  him  use  his  best  skill 
and  then  send  in  the  bill.  And  Betty 
enters  upon  a  course  of  irksome,  unpleas- 
ant and  occasionally  painful  treatment. 
Her  womb  was  cleansed,  painted,  douched, 

68 


THE   STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

curetted,  tilted,  supported  and  what  not. 
The  famous  gynecologist  said  that  it 
would  require  a  very  long  course  of  treat- 
ment, before  any  results  could  be  ex- 
pected, and  for  three  years  off  and  on 
Betty  bore  it  painfully  and  resignedly. 
The  only  result,  however,  of  the  treat- 
ment was  a  bill  for  four  thousand  dollars, 
the  doctor  declaring  that  he  could  do  no 
more  in  the  matter.  Bob  paid  the  bill  un- 
grudgingly, but  his  grudge  against  Betty 
took  on  a  deeper  hue.  And  tho  he  faith- 
fully tried  to  conceal  it,  it  did  not  escape 
Betty. 

Two  years  more  passed.  Bob  and  Betty 
had  been  married  ten  years,  and  still  no 
heir.  And  Bob  was  getting  like  one  ob- 
sessed on  the  subject.  It  became  his  idee 
fixe.  To  the  ]3erfectly  legitimate  desire 
to  leave  a  descendant  was  superadded  the 
vulgar  fear — what  will  become  of  all  my 
fortune  when  I  die?  He  brooded  on  the 
subject  day  and  night;  he  became  gloomy 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

and  irritable,  occasionally  rude,  and  Betty 
had  long  ago  given  up  the  attempt  to 
soothe  and  pacify  him.  She  lived  her  own 
life,  chiefly  among  books,  and  Bob  lived 
his  own.    Things  were  becoming  strained. 

Bob  said  he  had  to  go  away  on  business 
for  a  few  days.  He  went,  and  after  he 
was  gone  for  about  a  week,  Betty  received 
a  long  letter  from  him.  She  was  stunned 
for  the  moment;  it  was  a  matter  of  hours 
before  she  was  her  own  self.  The  hues 
in  her  face  became  a  little  harder,  the  ex- 
pression a  little  graver — but  that  was  all. 
If  a  storm  was  brewing  within  her,  it 
could  not  be  noticed  on  the  outside.  She 
gathered  a  few  of  her  things,  wrote  a 
short  note,  and  before  nightfall  she  was 
gone. 

What  did  Bob's  letter  contain?  It  was  a 
jumble  of  excuses,  apologies,  repetitions, 
circumlocution,  etc.,  but  out  of  it  all  one 
thing  stood  out  clearly.  "  In  justice  to 
himself  and  to  his  business  "  Bob  thought 

70 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

that  he  must  divorce  Betty.  He  was  too 
cowardly  to  tell  her  that  viva  voce — ^he 
was  still  a  little  afraid  of  her — a  reminder 
of  the  older  days — and  so  he  had  recourse 
to  the  usual  instrument  of  the  coward,  a 
letter.  He  hoped,  he  said,  that  after  she 
had  thought  over  the  matter  carefully, 
she  would  see  that  he  was  not  to  blame, 
that  he  was  right  and  that  she  would  not 
put  any  obstacles  in  his  way  of  getting  a 
divorce.  Of  course  he  would  provide  for 
her  liberally.     .     .     . 

The  note  that  Betty  left  was  of  the  fol- 
lowing contents : 

Bob:  I  have  considered  myself  di- 
vorced for  some  time.  You  are  free.  I 
shall  in  no  way  be  a  burden  to  you  in  the 
future  and  I  hope  that  our  ways  will 
never  cross.  Betty. 

When  Bob  returned  home  and  found 
that  Betty  was  gone,  he  was  at  first  over- 

71 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

whelmed  with  feelings  of  shame,  fear  and 
remorse.  He  was  considering  whether  it 
would  not  be  best  to  go  to  her,  beg  her 
forgiveness,  ask  her  to  forget  his  brutal 
letter,  as  if  it  never  had  been  written,  etc. 
But  the  intense  egotism  of  the  man  got 
the  upper  hand,  and  very  soon  his  feeling 
of  remorse  gave  way  to  a  sense  of  satis- 
faction that  Betty  was  making  things  so 
much  easier  for  him.  On  the  whole  he 
was  glad  she  was  gone :  he  feared  so  much 
the  explanations  with  Betty  and  the  scenes 
which  he  expected  would  follow  them. 
He  wanted  to  communicate  with  her,  but 
she  was  not  to  be  found. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Betty  was  on  her 
way  to  Europe.  She  had  a  little  money 
of  her  own,  she  realized  on  her  jewelry 
and  was  gone.  She  wanted  to  "  complete 
her  education."  For  the  last  two  years 
she  had  been  stifling  in  the  atmosphere  of 
her  home.  As  she  was  broadening  under 
the  influence  of  great  books,  Bob's  nar- 

72 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

rowness,  his  smallness,  his  utter  lack  of 
idealism,  began  to  pall  on  her  more  and 
more.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  ever  would 
have  taken  the  initial  step  in  leaving  Bob's 
house.  Inertia,  custom,  habit  are  the 
world's  greatest  hold-down  forces.  But 
when  Bob  himself  opened  the  door,  she — 
the  first  shock  over — could  not  walk  out 
quick  enough.  And  she  could  not  bear  to 
remain  in  her  home  town.  A  day  seemed 
an  age  to  her.  It  drew  her  into  the  world, 
she  wanted  to  breathe  the  air  of  freedom, 
away  from  the  neutral  narrowness,  deadly 
dullness,  and  condemning  conventions  of 
the  society  of  which  she  was  a  member. 
And  so  away  she  went,  and  Paris  was  her 
destination. 

Bob  applied  for  a  divorce  on  the  ground 
of  abandonment,  the  papers  were  served 
on  Betty  in  Paris,  she  did  not  defend  the 
suit,  and  as  money  was  no  object  with 
Bob  when  he  wanted  something,  the  cov- 
eted divorce  was  soon  in  his  hands.    And 

78 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

soon  he  married  again.  .  .  .  The  name 
is  immaterial.  But  she  came  from  a  pro- 
lific family,  was  a  healthy  animal,  a  chic 
dresser,  and  worldly  wise. 

Three  years  passed  and  Bob  was  still 
without  an  heir.  He  was  in  despair.  Tho 
not  very  hopeful,  he  took  his  wife  over  to 
Dr.  R.,  who  was  becoming  well-known 
both  for  his  ability  and  his  straightfor- 
wardness. He  was  a  different  sort  of  a 
man  from  Dr.  J.  His  opinions  were  not 
influenced  by  the  prospects  of  fat  fees. 
He  examined  Mrs.  Carey  II.  and  could 
find  nothing  wrong  with  her.  Dr.  R.  was 
up  to  date  and  he  knew  that  in  cases  of 
sterility  the  husband  is  much  more  often 
to  blame  than  the  wife  is.  He  asked  Mrs. 
C.  to  wait  in  the  parlor  and  asked  Bob 
to  come  into  the  office.  He  took  his  en- 
tire early  history,  subjected  him  to  a 
searching  quiz,  which  made  Bob  feel  as  if 
he  was  undergoing  the  third  degree.  He 
then  subjected  him  to  a  physical  examina- 

74 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 


tion,  made  certain  microscopic  tests  and 
as  a  result  of  which  he  told  him  rather 
curtly: 

"  Mr.  C,  the  only  way  Mrs.  C.  could 
have  children  for  you,  would  be  by  getting 
herself  another  husband.  You  will  never 
be  the  father  of  any  children.  It  is  the 
legacy  left  you  by  your  illness  in  San 
Francisco.  No,  it  is  absolutely  useless 
for  you  to  undergo  any  treatment.  We 
are  powerless  to  do  anything  in  a  case  like 
yours.  Anybody  who  will  undertake  to 
treat  you,  will  be  obtaining  money  under 
false  pretenses.  But  there  are  plenty  of 
charlatans  who  will  be  glad  to  have  you 
as  a  patient.    Good-day." 

Bob  walked  out  as  one  on  whom  a  death 
sentence  had  been  pronounced.  His  wife 
was  shocked  at  his  appearance.  His  color 
was  ashy,  his  knees  were  shaking.  He  be- 
came gloomy  and  morose.  But  Robert 
Carey  was  not  a  deep  feeling  man.  Grad- 
ually he  became  reconciled  to  his  condition. 

75 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

Only  he  began  to  worship  Bacchus  more 
assiduously,  and  he  spent  more  of  his 
evenings  at  the  club,  leaving  Mrs.  Carey 
to  find  amusement  elsewhere. 

And  as  he  would  be  sitting  puffing  a 
rich  Havana,  the  vision  of  the  sweet  and 
calm  face  of  Betty,  the  only  human  being 
he  ever  really  loved,  would  appear  in  the 
clouds  of  the  tobacco  smoke.  Where  was 
she  now?  What  was  she  doing?  And  as 
he  recollected  the  painful,  humiliating, 
unnecessary  treatment  to  which  Betty  was 
subjected  for  three  long  years,  he  felt  a 
sharp  pang  of  remorse ;  and  as  he  thought 
of  the  unjust  and  useless  divorce,  as  he 
compared  the  good,  faithful  Betty  with 
the  present  selfish,  amusement  loving  and 
rather  loose  Mrs.  Carey  Number  2  he 
felt  sick  at  heart.  And  then  he  ordered 
another  bottle  of  champagne. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Bob  and  his  wife  were  returning  from 
Europe.    Mrs.  Bob  had  a  great  time.  She 

76 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

made  numerous  friends,  not  all  of  irre- 
proachable character,  and  her  liaisons 
were  becoming  the  talk  of  the  smart  set. 
Bob  had  to  look  on,  grin  and  bear  it  and 
say  nothing.  He  did  make  some  objec- 
tions at  first,  but  Mrs.  Bob  paid  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  them.  She  was  get- 
ting coarser  and  bolder  and  told  Bob 
plainly  that  she  went  to  Europe  to  have  a 
"  real  good  time  "  and  if  he  did  not  like 
it,  he  could  go  back  to  the  States.  He 
had  his  good  time  in  his  youth,  now  she 
was  going  to  have  hers.  And  she  made 
some  remark  referring  to  their  visit  to 
Dr.  R.  which  made  Bob  wince.  And  he 
never  made  any  further  objections.  And 
now  they  are  returning  from  Europe,  and 
it  is  a  beautiful  day. 

They  occupy  the  most  expensive  state- 
room on  the  upper  deck,  but  it  is  doubtful 
if  the  cheapest  berth  in  the  steerage  will 
receive  that  night  an  individual  more 
miserable  and  more  disgusted  with  life, 

77 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

than  one  Robert  Carey,  Esq.  On  the 
same  steamer  with  the  Careys  is  the 
famous  American  author,  Thornton,  with 
his  wife  and  children.  And  when  they  go 
down  to  dinner  the  Careys  find  themselves 
seated  at  the  Captain's  table,  opposite  the 
Thorntons.  And  as  Robert  Carey,  Esq., 
looks  up  at  Mrs.  Thornton,  the  olive 
which  he  is  carrying  to  his  lips  drops  out 
of  his  fingers  and  rolls  on  the  heavy  car- 
peted floor,  his  lips  quiver  and  a  mist 
covers  his  eyes.  For  radiant  and  happy, 
with  a  sweet,  perhaps  slightly  pitying 
smile,  sits  before  him — his  former  Betty. 
On  her  right  is  her  husband,  who  seems  to 
have  eyes  for  nobody  but  her,  and  to  the 
left  of  her  sit  her  two  httle  manly  boys, 
and  a  cherub-like  little  girl.  There  is  a 
strained  introduction,  hardly  perceptible 
bows  are  exchanged,  and  an  awkward 
silence  ensues.  Mr.  Robert  hardly  tastes 
his  dinner.  He  excuses  himself,  leaves  the 
table  before  the  dessert  is  served,  and 

78 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 


shuffles  away  to  the  darkest  and  remotest 
corner  of  the  steamer.  As  he  looks  upon 
the  opening  and  closing  furrows  out  on 
the  smooth  ocean  mirror  by  the  wheels  of 
the  giant  steamer,  he  thinks.  Perhaps  he 
never  before  thought  so  deeply.  And  this 
is  what  he  thinks: 

"  Ignorance  has  ruined  my  life.  Ig- 
norance of  its  dangers  made  me  throw 
myself  into  sexual  promiscuity.  Igno- 
rance of  the  means  of  prevention  caused 
my  infection.  Ignorance  of  the  possible 
future  dangers  caused  me  to  neglect 
treatment,  until  too  late.  And  igno- 
rance, stupid,  brutal,  inexcusable,  igno- 
rance, ignorance  on  my  part  and  dishonest 
cupidity  on  the  part  of  Dr.  J.  caused  me 
to  lose,  to  deliberately  drive  away  from 
me,  the  dearest,  sweetest,  gentlest  and 
kindest  woman  on  earth,  the  only  woman 
I  ever  loved,  the  only  woman  I  ever  will 
love,  until  I  breathe  my  last." 

And   leaning    against   the   railing    he 

79 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

stood  motionless  for  many,  many  hours. 
And  he  meditated  as  he  never  did  before. 
There  is  no  stronger  stimulus  to  thought 
than  an  irretrievably  lost  love,  a  love  lost 
thru  our  own  shortcomings.  And  after 
a  while  a  thought  came  to  his  mind,  the 
noblest  thought  that  he  had  probably  en- 
tertained in  many  years. 

"  There  is  no  evil  without  some  good. 
Perhaps  it  is  better  so.  See  how  happy 
she  is.  Could  I  have  made  her  so  happy? 
No.  In  a  childless,  cheerless,  narrow 
home  she  would  have  withered  away.  It 
does  not  require  a  deep  insight  to  see  that 
she  leads  now  a  full,  satisfying^  happy 
life.  .  .  .  Perhaps  it  is  better  so." 
And  this  altruistic  thought  helped  him  to 
bear  with  a  semblance  of  outward  calm- 
ness the  six  days  of  the  trip,  which  would 
otherwise  have  been  an  unbearable  torture 
to  him. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carey  live  in  the  same 
house,  but  they  are  practically  strangers 

80 


THE  STORY  OF  BETTY  AND  BOB 

to  each  other.  She  goes  her  way,  bois- 
terously, he  goes  his  way,  quietly.  He 
has  no  hopes,  no  expectations,  but  he  has 
learned  to  be  resigned,  and  he  bears  his 
cross  unostentatiously.  And  frequently — 
and  as  the  years  go  by,  more  and  more 
frequently — he  takes  out  a  miniature 
from  his  pocket  case  and  looks  at  it,  long, 
long.     .     .    . 


81 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER— 
WOULD    YOU? 


WHO  WOULD  BLAME  HER— 
WOULD  YOU? 

^w^HEN  I  learned  that  Brannigan 
^  I  ^  got  married  I  was  dumb- 
Viy  founded.  "The  Hound!"  I 
could  not  help  exclaiming. 

Only  six  months  previously  he  had  ap- 
plied to  me  for  treatment.  He  had  a 
fresh  and  florid  case  of  syphiHs,  which  I 
knew  would  require  long  and  careful 
management,  before  the  virus  would  be 
more  or  less  eliminated  from  the  system 
and  make  him  a  safe  individual  to  mingle 
with  his  fellowmen.  He  had  blotches  and 
pimples  on  his  face,  forehead  and  body, 
his  hair  was  coming  out,  he  had  a  nasty 
sore  throat  and  white  patches  on  his  hps, 
tongue  and  inside  his  cheeks. 

He  followed  treatment  faithfuUy — 
which  for  a  person  of  his  class  rather  sur- 
prised me.    For  Brannigan  was  a  saloon- 

85 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME   HER? 

keeper  and  quite  a  politician  (or  perhaps 
ward-heeler  would  be  more  correct),  and 
for  these  people  to  give  up  smoking  and 
drinking  is  quite  a  sacrifice,  a  sacrifice 
which  they  are  seldom  willing  to  bring, 
even  if  they  promise  you  that  they  will. 
But  Brannigan  apparently  followed  in- 
structions carefully  and  after  three 
months'  treatment  his  external  condition 
was  excellent.  The  eruption  had  en- 
tirely disappeared,  and  leaving  the  whis- 
key alone  took  away  the  puffiness  from 
his  usually  bloated  countenance,  so  that 
he  looked  even  better  than  before  he  be- 
came sick.  So  that  to  the  layman  he 
looked  a  picture  of  health.  He  was  tell- 
ing me  that  his  friends  remarked  on  his 
exceptionally  good  appearance,  and  asked 
me  if  I  thought  he  still  needed  treatment. 
Did  he  still  need  treatment?  I  explained 
to  him  that  not  three  months,  but  three 
years  at  least  is  what  he  needed.  But  I 
saw  he  was  skeptical. 

86 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

The  trouble  with  the  common,  coarse 
people  is,  that  as  soon  as  they  get  rid  of 
pain,  or  of  external  disfigurements,  they 
think  that  treatment  is  superfluous.  They 
thus  allow  the  disease  to  gain  further 
headway,  and  when  pain  and  eruptions 
again  make  their  appearance,  they  re- 
apply to  the  physician.  Often  it  is  too 
late  to  do  anything  in  the  way  of  curing 
the  disease;  all  that  can  be  done  is  to  re- 
lieve the  symptoms.  I  explained  to  him 
these  points,  but,  as  I  said,  I  saw  he  was 
skeptical. 

And  then  he  startled  me  out  of  my 
chair  by  the  announcement  that  he  in- 
tended to  get  married  soon.  I  explained 
to  him,  using  all  the  eloquence  and  per- 
suasive power  at  my  command,  that  he 
was  not  in  a  position  to  get  married,  that 
he  had  no  moral  right  to  do  so,  that  he 
would  infect  his  wife,  that  she  would  have 
miscarriages,  that  if  she  gave  birth  to  a 
living  child,  it  would  be  puny,  weakly  and 

87 


WHO   WOULD    BLAME   HER? 

would  probably  die  at  an  early  age,  etc., 
etc.  It  was  of  no  use.  His  moral  code 
was  apparently — a  blank.  He  said  that 
the  day  of  his  wedding  was  set,  that  he 
couldn't  well  put  if  off,  and  that  he  didn't 
think  anything  would  happen.  If  any- 
thing should,  he  would  then  request  my 
services.  I  told  him  that  a  man  who,  be- 
ing in  his  condition,  would  marry  an  inno- 
cent woman,  deserved  solitary  confine- 
ment in  the  penitentiary  for  life ;  hanging 
or  shooting  was  too  good  for  him.  I  then 
dismissed  him,  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw 
of  him  for  a  while.  And  when  I  heard 
that  soon  after  he  married  Jessie  Costello, 
who  was  barely  out  of  her  teens,  my  heart 
ached.  Of  course  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion of  love  in  such  a  case.  Brutal  animal 
passion — perhaps.  But  whether  he  was 
attracted  to  her  by  her  young  pretty  face, 
or  by  the  considerable  dowry  left  her  by 
her  father  (he  had  been  dead  some  two 
years,  and  she  lived  with  her  mother  and  a 

88 


WHO   WOULD    BLAME   HER? 

younger  sister)  is  hard  to  say.  Probably 
by  both. 

My  heart  ached,  tho  I  knew  the  Cos- 
tellos  but  slightly ;  but  I  was  utterly  help- 
less in  the  matter.  I  met  Brannigan  some 
two  months  after  his  marriage.  He 
looked  well  and  he  told  me,  with  a  rather 
impudent  smile,  that  he  felt  as  fine  as  a 
fiddle,  that  his  wife  felt  fine,  and  that  he 
didn't  think  he  would  ever  need  me. 

I  had  moved  to  another  part  of  the  city 
and  I  didn't  hear  of  the  Brannigans  for 
about  five  years.  Then  one  morning  Mrs. 
Brannigan  appeared  at  my  office. 

We  physicians  are  used  to  see  changes 
in  women,  who  we  knew  as  girls.  This  is 
particularly  true  of  the  poorer  classes. 
Overwork,  frequent  childbearing,  nurs- 
ing, sleepless  nights,  disagreement  with 
the  husband,  etc.,  etc.,  often  work  havoc 
with  the  faces  of  young  women.  But  the 
changes  in  Mrs.  Brannigan,  nee  Costello, 
were  so  extraordinary,  that  my  heart  stood 

89 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

still  for  the  moment.  She  had  been  plump, 
she  was  now  as  thin  as  a  skeleton.  She 
had  had  a  wealth  of  black,  glossy  hair, 
now  her  hair  was  thin,  "  moth-eaten,"  lus- 
treless. One  of  her  eyes  was  half  closed, 
and  the  sight  in  it  was  almost  entirely 
gone,  but  what  made  her  almost  unrecog- 
nizable and  repulsive,  was  the  nose.  The 
bridge  of  her  once  Roman  nose  was  deeply 
sunken,  so  that  the  tip  looked  way  up- 
ward, and  the  flattened  organ  emitted  a 
sickening  disagreeable  odor.  She  noticed 
that  I  was  struck  by  the  change  in  her  ap- 
pearance, and  she  smiled  very  sadly. 

I  took  her  history  and  I  copy  it  briefly 
from  my  case  book:  She  began  to  ail 
about  three  months  after  her  marriage. 
She  had  a  bad  sore  throat,  very  severe 
headache,  fever,  pains  in  the  muscles,  her 
hair  came  out,  her  face  and  cheeks  got 
blotchy,  etc.  [Of  course  I  needed  no  more 
symptoms  to  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  her.]     She  wanted  to  see  a  doctor, 

90 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

but  her  husband  didn't  think  it  was  nec- 
esssary.  He  said  he  knew  something  good 
himself.  He  bought  her  some  pills,  which 
did  her  very  much  good.  The  pain  went 
away,  the  face  cleared  up,  etc.  About 
two  months  later  she  had  a  miscarriage. 
In  two  months  another  eruption;  pim- 
ples, pustules  and  blotches  all  over  the 
body,  and  in  four  months  another  mis- 
carriage. She  had  in  all  five  miscarriages ; 
finally  about  nine  months  ago  she  gave 
birth  to  a  living  child,  but  it  was  very 
weak,  had  an  eruption  on  the  body,  and 
its  nose  was  flat  and  fallen  in. 

Whenever  she  would  get  an  eruption 
her  husband  would  bring  her  some  pills 
and  some  medicine  [undoubtedly  from  the 
prescriptions  which  I  had  given  him]  and 
she  would  improve.  After  about  two 
years  of  this  home  treatment  she  insisted 
on  seeing  a  physician,  and  her  husband 
brought  her  one.  The  doctor  examined 
her,  said  she  had  eczema  and  prescribed. 

91 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

The  medicine  improved  her  condition  con- 
siderably, but  temporarily.  Of  course  the 
doctor  knew  what  the  disease  was,  but  he 
was  instructed  by  the  husband,  as  doctors 
so  often  are  in  such  cases,  not  to  tell  the 
truth. 

And  so  she  had  been  going  on  for  five 
years.  Excepting  the  first  three  months 
of  her  married  life,  she  never  had  a  day 
of  health  or  of  peace.  She  was  constantly 
suffering.  The  treatment  was  intermit- 
tent and  only  served  to  relieve  the  sever- 
est symptoms.  Now  the  medicine  was  not 
having  much   effect.^     During   the   last 

1 1  can  fully  corroborate  the  statement  of  Fournier 
and  other  great  syphilologists,  that  in  women  contract- 
ing syphilis  from  their  husbands,  the  disease  often  pur- 
sues a  most  malignant  course.  And  for  the  mere  reason, 
that  the  cowardly  beasts,  i.e.,  the  husbands,  are  afraid 
to  tell  their  wives  what  the  matter  is  and  so  the  disease 
is  allowed  to  progress  until  such  a  time  when  treatment 
is  well-nigh  useless.  Fournier  relates  among  others  a 
case  similar  to  ours,  of  a  young  woman  who  contracted 
the  disease  from  her  husband  and  was  not  treated.  A 
few  years  later  the  forehead,  the  palate,  a  part  of  the 
face,  half  of  the  upper  Up  and  the  whole  of  the  nose 
were  destroyed. 

92 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 


year  she  hardly  left  her  room :  she  was  so 
much  ashamed  of  her  appearance.  Hun- 
dreds of  times,  she  said,  she  wished  her- 
self dead,  and  I  gathered  from  her  re- 
marks that  but  for  her  strong  religious 
faith,  she  being  a  devout  Roman  Catholic, 
she  would  have  done  away  with  herself 
long  ago.  Her  husband  also  had  occa- 
sional eruptions,  but  not  so  bad.  He  was 
now  an  alderman,  and  expected  soon  to  be 
nominated  for  assemblyman.  I  under- 
stood that  he  was  not  treating  her  well. 
He  was  running  around  with  other 
women,  and  with  one  he  was  keeping  com- 
pany "  pretty  steady." 

What  brought  her  now  to  my  office? 
Up  to  the  day  previous  she  had  no  idea 
that  she  had  any  kind  of  a  "  had  "  disease, 
or  a  ''catching''  sickness.  Yesterday  a 
cousin  of  hers,  who  was  a  medical  student 
in  Boston,  came  to  see  her;  he  was  shocked 
by  her  appearance,  and  inadvertently  re- 
marked that  she  must  be  suffering  from 

93 


WHO   WOULD    BLAME   HER? 

a  very  bad  disease,  which  required  very- 
energetic  and  very  thoro  treatment.  At 
any  rate  he  was  sure  she  was  not  suffering 
from  eczema.  The  doctor  who  made  the 
diagnosis  must  have  been  very  ignorant 
or  must  have  deceived  her  dehberately. 
He  had  heard  of  me  and  advised  her  to 
consult  me.  He  knew  I  would  tell  her 
the  exact  truth.  As  she  knew  I  had 
treated  her  husband  once,  she  went  to  see 
me  the  very  next  day.  I  told  her  what  her 
disease  was  and  also  told  her  that  only  the 
most  energetic  treatment  could  save  her 
from  its  further  ravages.  I  was  afraid 
her  nose  was  hopelessly  doomed,  but  of 
course  did  not  tell  her  so.  She  asked  me 
how  people  got  this  disease.  I  told  her 
the  usual  way,  but  added  that  people 
sometimes  got  infected  from  drinking 
cups,  from  using  a  towel  which  a  syphili- 
tic had  used,  from  being  shaved  by  a  bar- 
ber who  had  the  disease  on  his  hands,  etc. 
"  And  did  my  husband  have  the  disease 

94 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

before  he  married  me? "  she  asked  in  high 
tension.  I  told  her  as  gently  as  I  could, 
that  I  regretted  very  much  not  to  be  able 
to  give  her  any  information  regarding 
her  husband's  condition.  We  were  not 
supposed  to  speak  of  our  patients  to  any- 
body. I  would  give  all  the  information 
she  desired  regarding  herself,  but  she 
must  not  ask  me  any  questions  regarding 
her  husband.  But  I  fear  she  understood. 
And  this  I  could  not  help.  Was  I  called 
upon  to  tell  a  deliberate  untruth  for  the 
sake  of  whitewashing  her  husband?  Cer- 
tainly not.  Neither  morally  nor  legally 
did  I  have  any  such  obligation. 

She  wanted  to  put  herself  into  my  full 
charge,  but  unfortunately — or  fortunately 
— I  could  not  take  the  case,  as  we  were 
leaving  in  a  few  days  for  Europe,  for  a 
nine  months'  trip  (that  was  in  1905). 

I  gave  her,  however,  the  names  of  two 
specialists  and  told  her  that  either  one 
would   treat  her   intelligently   and   con- 

95 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

scientiously,  and  would  do  as  much  for 
her  as  I  could. 

Some  two  or  three  months  after  I  re- 
turned home,  I  learned  that  what  I  had 
feared  had  happened:  Poor  Mrs.  Branni- 
gan's  nose  was  completely  gone.  The 
disease  had  made  too  deep  inroads  and 
there  was  no  possibility  of  saving  it.  She 
was  wearing  an  artificial  nose,  and  but 
very,  very  seldom  left  the  house,  and  when 
she  did  she  was  heavily  veiled.  Some 
months  later  I  heard  that  her  baby,  the 
only  one  she  had,  died.  It  had  always 
been  puny  and  sickly,  and  when  it  got 
broncho-pneumonia,  it  had  no  chance  at 
all.  When  a  child  is  born  with  a  strong 
hereditary  taint,  is  not  treated  properly, 
and  gets  one  of  the  children's  diseases — 
measles,  bronchitis,  pneumonia  or  whoop- 
ing cough,  etc., — the  death  certificate  may, 
in  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  cases,  be  written 
out  beforehand.  Mrs.  Brannigan  did  not 
attend  the  child's  funeral.     She  was  too 

9^ 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

weak  to  go  out.  But  Mr.  Brannigan  did 
and  he  came  home  in  a  hilarious  condition, 
half  drunk. 

And  the  following  morning  the  neigh- 
borhood was  shocked  by  the  news  that 
Mrs.  Brannigan  had  shot  her  husband 
dead,  while  he  was  asleep,  and  then  killed 
herself.  The  servants  testified  at  the  in- 
quest that  after  the  first  shot  they  heard 
some  conversation.  Mr.  Brannigan  seems 
to  have  asked  why  she  did  it,  and  she  ap- 
parently explained  to  him.  But  the  answer 
must  have  been  a  short  one,  for  the  second 
shot  which  killed  Mrs.  Brannigan,  fol- 
lowed very  soon  after.  The  papers  had 
it,  that  Mrs.  Brannigan's  act  was  done  in 
a  temporary  fit  of  insanity,  caused  by  the 
loss  of  her  child  and  by  an  incurable  dis- 
ease with  which  she  was  afflicted.  But  it 
was  not  a  fit  of  insanity.  The  act  was 
carefully  premeditated,  and  was  com- 
mitted by  her  as  a  duty,  as  a  punishment 
of  a  dastardly  crime.    In  her  letter,  which 

97 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

the  newspapers  did  not  get  possession  of 
and  which  here  appears  for  the  first  time, 
she  explains  and  attempts  to  justify  her 
action.    Here  it  is : 

".  .  .  May  the  Lord  forgive  me!  I 
know  I  am  about  to  commit  a  mortal  sin, 
but  maybe  it  is  a  bigger  sin  to  let  such  a 
man  as  Dan  live.  I  have  nothing  to  live 
for.  My  baby,  the  only  creature  which 
needs  me,  is  going  to  die.  The  doctor 
said  there  was  no  hope  for  it.  He  took 
me  young  and  healthy  and  see  what  he 
made  of  me.  If  he  killed  me  outright  the 
crime  would  not  have  been  so  great  as 
what  he  [has]  done  to  me.  I  never  knew 
a  good  day  since  I  married  him.  A  man 
has  no  right  to  treat  a  woman  like  that. 
And  now  our  baby  is  just  like  dead.  And 
I  feel  I  ain't  going  to  live  long.  And  I 
know  when  I  am  gone  he  is  going  to  marry 

Mrs And  he  will  make  her  sick 

and  miserable,  and  she  will  have  sick  chil- 

98 


WHO    WOULD    BLAME    HER? 

dren  that  don't  deserve  to  live.  No,  that 
is  too  much.  Let  him  suffer  for  his  sins, 
for  hiding  from  me  what  kind  of  sickness 
I  had  so  I  could  be  treated  by  a  good 
doctor.    .    .    .    May  the  Lord  help  me." 

Here  followed  some  more  lines  which 
were  not  quite  legible. 

And  so  Brannigan  expiated  his  sin,  by 
being  shot,  a  punishment  which  I  had 
told  him  was  too  good  for  him.  Mrs. 
Brannigan,  crazed  by  the  outrages  com- 
mitted upon  her  person  by  a  conscienceless 
wretch,  took  the  moral  law  into  her  own 
hands. 

I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame 
her — can  you? 


99 


A  WONDERFUL  COUNTRY 


A  WONDERFUL  COUNTRY 

^^^!^HERE  is  a  canton  in  Switzer- 
£  J  land  which  is  more  beautiful  than 
^^^  all  the  rest,  more  richly  endowed 
by  Nature,  more  developed  economically, 
more  advanced  in  everything  that  consti- 
tutes true  Progress  and  Civilization.  The 
average  tourist  seldom  or  never  visits  that 
canton.  It  is  too  much  out  of  the  way, 
no  railway  or  diligence  leads  there,  and 
you  are  obliged  to  make  the  journey  on 
foot — or  on  wings,  if  you  have  any.  It 
is  a  long  journey,  but  the  labor  is  well  re- 
paid when  you  get  there.  I  was  bound 
to  visit  that  place,  of  which  I  had  heard — 
and  dreamed — so  much,  and  I  started  out 
one  Saturday  morning  about  4  o'clock. 
The  night  air  was  cool  and  bracing,  I 
breathed  deeply,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  hardly  touched    the    ground.      I    felt 

103 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

happy,  and  rather  soared  than  walked. 
After  five  hours'  walk,  at  about  9  a.  m.  I 
entered  the  capital  of  the  canton. 

What  struck  me  first  was  the  remark- 
able cleanness  of  the  streets.  The  pave- 
ment was  of  a  peculiar  character:  it  was 
so  soft  that  it  seemed  to  yield  under  your 
feet.  Not  a  particle  of  dust.  Two 
double  rows  of  trees  on  each  side  of  the 
street.  Each  house  stood  separately,  sur- 
rounded by  a  little  garden.  Men,  wo- 
men and  children  were  going  to  and  fro, 
and,  whether  imagination  or  not,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  real,  genuine  happiness  was 
shining  out  of  every  face.  Everybody 
seemed  to  say:  "  I  feel  happy,  satisfied, 
I  am  glad  I  am  alive."  There  was  not 
a  trace  of  that  tension  which  you  notice 
on  the  faces  of  New  Yorkers — for  in- 
stance, no  "  bags  "  under  the  eyes,  no  care- 
denoting  lines,  no  wrinkles — in  short,  no 
tell-tale  marks  of  hurry,  worry,  dissipa- 
tion, sleeplessness,  suffering,  job-hunting, 

104 


A   WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

hunger-fear.  Of  course  they  noticed  I 
was  a  foreigner,  and  every  one  greeted 
me  with  a  smile  and  a  cheery  good-morn- 
ing. I  felt  hungry.  You  never  feel  so 
hungry  as  after  an  Alpine  tramp  in  the 
early  morning.  I  entered  into  a  dairy 
— the  cleanliness  of  the  place  baffles  de- 
scription— took  two  glasses  of  milk  and 
some  rolls  (and  no  $10  a  plate  dinner 
can  ever  taste  as  good),  was  surprised  at 
the  insignificant  amount  asked  in  pay- 
ment, and  proceeded  to  drink  in  the  balmy 
air — the  only  beverage  of  which  you  can 
never  drink  too  much — and  to  see  the 
town. 

After  walking  forty  or  fifty  blocks,  I 
thought  I  would  go  and  introduce  my- 
self to  some  physician  or  pharmacist  and 
have  a  chat.  It  then  struck  me  that  all 
the  time  I  had  been  walking  I  had  not 
noticed  a  single  physician's  sign  or  a 
single  drug  store.  I  was  rather  surprised, 
and    walked    further.      After    roaming 

105 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

about  aimlessly  for  another  hour  I  was 
about  to  ask  a  passer-by  for  an  explana- 
tion of  the  phenomenon  when  I  noticed  a 
large  house  surrounded  by  a  large  gar- 
den which  instinct  told  me  was  a  hospital. 
It  had  none  of  the  outward  signs  of  a 
hospital,  but  my  surmise  was  right.  I 
opened  the  gate,  entered,  and  the  gar- 
dener, who  was  trimming  some  rose 
bushes,  greeted  me  with  extreme  polite- 
ness and  affability  and  asked  me  whom 
I  wanted  to  see.  I  told  him  the  physician- 
in-chief.  I  soon  stood  before  a  gentleman 
whose  personality  I  shall  never  forget  if 
I  were  to  live  another  hundred  years. 
Tall,  broad-shouldered,  clear-complex- 
ioned,  beaming  with  strength,  kindness 
and  intelligence — such  was,  such  is.  Dr. 
Boncoeur.  Five  minutes  had  not  passed, 
and  I  thought  we  had  been  friends  for 
years. 

I  told  him  my  astonishment  at  not  hav- 
ing seen  the  sign  of  a  single  doctor  or 

106 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

druggist.  As  each  country  has  its  own  code 
of  ethics,  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  un- 
ethical in  this  canton  to  display  any  sign 
at  all,  just  as  it  is  unethical  in  the  United 
States  to  display  the  sign  of  your  spe- 
cialty. "  No,  my  dear  Dr.  Robinson,  you 
saw  no  signs  of  doctors  or  druggists  be- 
cause there  are  practically  no  doctors  and 
druggists  in  this  canton."  I  thought  he 
was  joking.  No,  he  was  perfectly  serious. 
"  What  would  they  do  here?  They  would 
starve." 

Seeing  that  I  was  somewhat  puzzled 
and  nettled,  he  became  serious.  "I'll  ex- 
plain to  you,"  he  said.  "  What  are  you, 
a  general  practitioner  or  a  specialist?" 
I  told  him  my  specialty.  "  Well,  one 
part  of  your  specialty  (and  the  greater 
part,  no  doubt)  is  entirely  non-existent 
in  our  canton.  We  haven't  had  a  case  of 
venereal  disease  in — oh,  I  don't  know  how 
many  years.  What  is  the  real  cause  of 
venereal  disease?    The  real  and  only  ulti- 

107 


A   WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

mate  cause  is  prostitution.  Prostitution 
is  fed  by  (has  back  of  it)  two  causes,  and 
two  causes  only:  Poverty  and  ignorance. 
Indeed,  I  might  say  one  cause ;  for  ignor- 
ance, in  our  days,  may  be  considered  as 
an  accompaniment  of  poverty.  It  is  not 
so  much  the  poverty  of  the  women — in 
fact,  this  is  but  a  subsidiary  cause — as 
the  poverty  of  the  men  of  all  classes, 
which  prevents  them  from  marrying  early 
and  thus  creates  a  demand  for  prostitu- 
tion. 

Whenever  there  is  a  demand,  there  is 
a  supply.  In  our  canton  the  economic 
conditions  are  such  that  everybody  who 
is  willing  to  work  is  sure  of  a  living,  and 
our  young  men  marry  generally  at  the 
age  of  18,  20  and  22.  A  great  deterrent 
to  marriage  in  former  times  was,  and  in 
other  countries  is  now,  the  fear  of  too 
many  children.  But  regulation  of  repro- 
duction is  not  only  permitted  here,  but 
is  encouraged.    The  prevention  of  con- 

108 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

^— ^^^^^^^^^^^^B^^^^^^^^^^^^M^— ■■ll»»l        — ^— — ^—^i^^— —— — — 1— M^— — 

ception  is  not  a  crime,  and  people  have 
children  only  when  they  want  to,  and 
only  as  many  as  they  want.  In  a  nutshell : 
economic  conditions  are  good,  girls  needn't 
sell  their  bodies  to  make  a  living;  men 
marry  early  and  create  no  demand,  pros- 
titution is  non-existent,  and  its  results — 
venereal  diseases — have  disappeared.  So 
what  would  a  venereal  specialist  do  here?  " 

"  How  about  marital  infection  and  he- 
reditary syphilis?" 

"None  whatsoever.  While  we  passed 
no  laws,  public  opinion  was  so  strong  in 
the  case  of  a  man  infecting  his  wife,  or 
causing  her  to  bear  syphilitic  children, 
that  men  made  pretty  sure  not  to  marry 
unless  they  were  themselves  sure  of  being 
clean  and  healthy.  We  have  not  at  pres- 
ent a  gonorrheic  or  syphilitic  in  the  can- 
ton, and  consequently  there  is  no  fear  of 
infected  wives  or  syphilitic  children." 

"How  about  skin  diseases?" 

"We  have  almost  none.     I  once  at- 

109 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

tended  a  skin  clinic  in  Berlin.  Out  of 
200  cases  seen  on  one  Sunday  morning 
I  counted  nearly  180  cases,  or  90  per  cent, 
of  eczema,  trade  dermatites,  psoriasis, 
acne,  scabies,  pediculosis,  etc.  Now, 
practically  all  of  these  diseases  are  due 
to  an  improper  mode  of  living — unclean- 
liness,  too  much  beer,  etc.  We  have  elim- 
inated all  these  factors,  and  so  skin  disease 
is  a  rare  thing  indeed." 

How  about  surgery? "  I  asked. 

I  confess  we  are  rather  poor  surgeons, 
because  we  have  so  little  surgery  to  do. 
Let  us  see." 

Here  he  took  down  from  the  shelf  a 
big  text-book  on  surgery,  "  Gunshot 
Wounds"  Two  hundred  pages  devoted 
to  gunshot  wounds !  "  Well,  we  have  no 
gunshot  wounds,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  we  have  no  guns,  no  pistols.  There 
isn't  a  firearm  in  the  place.  What  could 
we  do  with  them?  No,  we  are  not  afraid 
of  foreign  invasion.    Railway  accidents. 

no 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

We  have  no  railway  accidents.  First  we 
use  the  most  scientific  safeguards ;  second, 
our  engineers  and  conductors  are  not  over- 
worked, and  third,  our  people  are  never 
in  a  hurry.  They  get  where  they  want  to, 
but  there  is  no  rush  and  no  crush,  and 
therefore  no  accident.  Treatment  of 
strictures.  Having  no  gonorrheas,  we  also 
have  no  strictures  to  treat.  Fractures  and 
dislocations.  There  hasn't  been  a  frac- 
ture or  dislocation  in  this  canton  for  at 
least  fifty  years.  None  should  ever  hap- 
pen in  an  intelligent  country  where  the 
people  are  civiMzed,  cool-headed  and  care- 
ful." 

"How  about  gynecology?"  I  asked. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  no  room  for 
gynecologists?  In  our  country,  in  the 
United  States,  gynecology  is  one  of  the 
busiest  and  best-paying  specialties." 

"  Well,  let  us  see  again.  Take  off  the 
diseases  caused  (1)  by  non-gratification 
or  perverted  gratification  of  the  natural 

111 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

sexual  instinct,  (2)  by  improper  attempts 
at  prevention  of  conception,  (3)  by  delib- 
erately induced  abortion  or  attempts  at 
abortion,  (4)  by  gonorrheal  affection 
from  the  husband,  (5)  by  congestions  due 
to  colds,  superinduced  by  improper  cloth- 
ing, dancing  in  overheated  halls,  etc.,  and 
(6)  by  labors  conducted  by  ignorant  mid- 
wives,  and  what  is  left  for  your  gynecolo- 
gist?   Very  httle." 

"  How  about  tuberculosis?  " 

"  That  disease  has  been  stamped  out  in 
our  canton  long  ago.  Tuberculosis  is  a 
disease  of  poverty,  ignorance,  poor  food, 
vitiated  air  and  overwork.  All  these 
causes  have  been  removed  here  long  ago." 

"How  about  heredity?" 

"  Heredity  plays  but  an  insignificant 
role,  and  its  influence  can  be  entirely  nulli- 
fied by  environment." 

And  so  Dr.  Boncoeur  went  thru  the  en- 
tire list  of  diseases,  and  showed  that  ap- 
proximately ninety  per  cent  were  entirely 

112 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

avoidable  diseases,  avoidable  accidents. 
And,  as  it  would  not  pay  for  physicians 
to  engage  in  private  practice,  there  is  a 
municipal  hospital  in  each  town,  with  three 
to  a  dozen  physicians,  where  the  few  cases 
of  disease  and  accident  that  do  occur  are 
treated,  free  of  course.  Nor  are  there  any 
drug  stores.  He  showed  me  the  hospital 
pharmacy,  and  I  was  astonished  at  the 
small  number  of  drugs.  "  Well,  it  is  bet- 
ter to  have  a  small  number  of  standard- 
ized drugs,  and  active  principles  and  know 
exactly  what  each  one  will  do  than  to 
have  a  lot  of  uncertain,  unreliable  prep- 
arations administered  on  a  guess."  Here 
he  smiled.  "  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  what  is 
going  on  in  the  rest  of  the  world,  tho  we 
do  hve  rather  secluded." 

Naturally  Dr.  Boncoeur  invited  me  to 
lunch,  and  forever  shall  I  carry  with  me 
the  memory  of  those  pleasant  hours  passed 
in  the  company  of  the  good  doctor,  his 
charming,  trim,  jolly  and  somewhat  co- 
ns 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 


quettish  wife  and  his  five  sturdy  children 
— three  boys  and  two  girls.  We  talked, 
and  talked,  and  talked — or  rather  he 
talked  and  I  listened  dreamily. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said,  "  as  you  have  prac- 
tically done  away  with  doctors,  you  are 
certainly  getting  along  without  lawyers?  " 

"Most  certainly.  There  isn't  a  law- 
yer in  the  canton.  Lawyers  thrive  on 
crime  and  dissension,  and  if  they  do  not 
actually  disseminate  the  former  they  cer- 
tainly do  the  latter.  And  what  do  we 
want  lawyers  for?  Crime  is  the  result 
of  poverty  and  ignorance.  People  are 
essentially  good.  It  is  poverty,  or  rather 
the  fear  of  poverty,  that  makes  people 
graft,  cheat,  rob,  lie,  steal,  adulterate, 
commit  arson,  forgeries,  perjuries,  etc. 
The  fear  of  poverty  is  absolutely  un- 
known in  our  canton.  A  person  is  no 
more  afraid  that  he  will  have  no  food  to 
eat  or  no  house  to  live  in  than  he  is  afraid 
that  he  will  have  no  air  to  breathe.  There 

114 


A    WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 

is  plenty  for  everybody,  and  the  distri- 
bution of  wealth  being  more  equitable, 
there  is  no  envy,  jealousy  or  class  hatred. 
Occasional  misunderstandings  occur,  but 
thej^  are  settled  easily  by  an  umpire,  or 
by  some  respected  citizen  in  whose  keen 
judgment  and  unbiased  mind  every  one 
has  confidence.  We  have  many  such  citi- 
zens. You  might  call  them  judges;  but 
they  are  not  professional  judges,  and  do 
not  get  paid.  Do  they  study  law?  No; 
we  have  found  out  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  study  law  and  statute  books  in  order 
to  be  able  to  determine  questions  accord- 
ing to  right,  justice  and  common  sense. 
Every  citizen  is  permeated  with  the  spirit 
of  fair  play,  and  quarrels  are  nipped  in 
the  bud." 

I  spent  a  week  -vdth  Dr.  Boncoeur  and 
his  assistant,  and  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
put  down  all  the  delightful  things  I  saw 
and  heard;  some  other  time. 

We  drove  thru  the  country,  and  the 

115 


A   WONDERFUL    COUNTRY 


happiness  and  contentment  on  the  faces 
of  the  inhabitants  acted  as  a  bahn  to  my 
overstrmig  nerves.  Of  course  there 
wasn't  a  vestige  of  a  jail  or  of  an  in- 
sane asylum. 

"Happy  people  I  Happy  country!" 
thought  I,  with  a  feeling  of  admiration 
mixed  with  a  trace  of  envy. 

I  decided  to  revisit  that  beautiful 
country  at  every  possible  opportunity. 

And  I  go  there  very  often. 


116 


THE    LIFE    HISTORY    OF    AN 
IDEAL  MAN 


THE    LIFE    HISTORY    OF    AN 
IDEAL  MAN 

XAM  telling  you  the  story  as  I 
heard  it  from  the  lips  of  the  chief 
actors. 
If  ever  there  was  an  ideal  boy,  Jack 
Martin  was  one.  No  wonder.  The  at- 
mosphere in  which  he  grew  up  was  an  ideal 
one.  He  was  sweet  and  gentle  and  he 
had  blond  hair,  blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks. 
No  wonder.  His  mother  was  sweet  and 
gentle  and  she  had  blond  hair,  blue  eyes 
and  rosy  cheeks. 

His  parents  were  rich  and  he  was  not 
sent  to  public  school.  The  public  school 
was  a  vulgar  and  dangerous  institu- 
tion, the  parents  decided.  The  children 
learned  there  many  vulgar  expressions — 
they  even  learned  to  swear — and  they 
were  in  danger  of  being  initiated  into  bad 
and  debilitating  habits;  and  so  until  the 

119 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

age  of  ten,  he  was  in  the  hands  of  gov- 
ernesses, sweet  old  maids,  who  taught 
him  arithmetic  and  history  and  geography 
and  good  manners,  and  instilled  in  him  a 
wholesome  repugnance  for  everything 
profane  and  vulgar. 

Later  he  was  given  a  private  tutor.  He 
was  a  nice  dry  man,  without  an  original 
idea  in  his  head,  with  a  few  superstitions, 
but  no  illusions,  on  which  fact  he  prided 
himself.  He  was  sure  that  in  this  world 
everybody  worked  only  for  himself  and 
that  altruism  was  a  delusion.  But  he  was 
a  good  teacher,  and  under  his  instruction 
Jack  acquired  a  fair  knowledge  of  Latin 
and  Greek,  a  fairly  fair  knowledge  of  al- 
gebra and  geometry,  a  mediocre  knowl- 
edge of  conventional  history,  and  no 
knowledge  at  all  of  physiology  and  hy- 
giene— for  the  latter  two  subjects  were 
not  required  in  the  college  entrance  ex- 
aminations. 

When  Jack  entered  college  he  was  as 

120 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

pure  and  innocent  as  a  young  girl  is,  or 
is  supposed  to  be.  The  jokes  and  allu- 
sions of  his  college  chums  he  did  not  un- 
derstand at  first.  When  he  did,  he  felt 
revolted.  Their  invitations  to  go  out  and 
have  a  drink,  or  to  have  a  good  time,  he 
declined  with  indignation.  He  never 
stayed  out  nights,  to  the  delight  of  his 
father  and  mother,  particularly  his  mother. 
By  his  college  chums  it  was  soon  decided 
that  he  was  a  "  sissy,"  and  he  was  let 
alone. 

He  did  not  participate  in  the  college 
sports.  He  was  not  popular  in  the  class, 
but  he  was  respected  for  his  uncompro- 
mising honesty,  for  his  willingness  to  help. 
He  gradually  improved  in  his  studies  as 
he  passed  from  class  to  class,  and  when 
he  was  graduated  he  carried  off  the  three 
highest  prizes.  He  was  the  joy  of  his 
parents,  who  idolized  him.  He  special- 
ized in  ancient  history  and  soon  got  a 
lectureship    in    his    alma    mater.     Three 

121 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

years  later  he  had  a  full  professorship. 
He  was  then  twenty-eight  years  old. 

When  he  met  Juliet  Brandon  he  felt 
as  if  shot.  Never  did  Cupid  direct  a 
straighter  nor  a  sharper  arrow.  He  was 
somewhat  dazed.  He  didn't  understand 
it  at  first,  but  he  soon  knew  what  it  was. 
It  was  love.  Violent,  blazing,  all  en- 
grossing, all  consuming,  all  overcoming, 
never-dying  love.  Love  is  blind  and 
needs  no  arguments,  but  if  the  god  of  love 
had  a  thousand  eyes  and  wanted  a  thou- 
sand arguments  he  would  have  been  satis- 
fied. With  his  keenest  gaze  he  could  not 
have  found  a  flaw  in  Juliet  Brandon,  and 
not  a  single  argument  could  he  have 
found  why  Jack  should  not  love  Juliet; 
all  the  arguments  would  have  been  why 
he  should. 

Juliet  had  beautiful  black  hair,  large 
black,  limpid  eyes,  a  well  developed  bust, 
prominent  hips,  and  a  shapely,  firm,  tho 
not  too  small  foot.     Was  it  any  of  those 

122 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

things,  or  all  those  things  combined,  that 
attracted  him?  He  did  not  know.  He 
only  knew  that  she  was  a  beautiful  human 
being,  a  woman  to  her  very  fingertips, 
and  that  he  experienced  intense  happiness 
in  her  presence.  Both  physically  and 
mentally  he  felt  more  healthy,  more  buoy- 
ant, more  elastic. 

He  also  knew  very  soon  that  life  with- 
out her  would  be  neither  possible  nor  de- 
sirable. Juliet  soon  became  aware  of 
Jack's  feelings  for  her,  and  gradually 
tho  slowly  to  her  feeling  of  high  regard 
for  him  there  was  added  a  feeling  of  love. 
It  was  not  the  tempestuous,  consuming 
feeling — 'it  was  strong,  honest  love,  love 
that  promised  not  only  to  last  forever, 
but  to  grow  stronger  as  the  years  passed 
by.  And  when  Jack  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife  she  said  Yes,  without  hesitation. 
She  felt  she  could  rely  on  Jack  and  that  he 
would  remain  constant  to  her  to  his  dying 
day. 

123 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

The  kiss  that  sealed  their  betrothal  in- 
troduced Jack  to  a  new,  never-experienced 
sensation,  a  sensation  of  indescribable 
happiness.  The  months  of  engagement 
were  for  Jack  months  of  vertiginous  bliss, 
or  blissful  vertigo.  When  Jack  and 
Juliet  were  married  there  was  not  a  hap- 
pier couple  and  the  universal  verdict  was : 
A  happy  marriage,  an  ideal  couple. 

The  day  following  the  wedding  there 
was  a  puzzled,  disappointed  expression  on 
Juliet's  face.  In  three  months  JuHet  be- 
came irritable,  and  in  six  months  she  was 
hysterical  and  cried  on  the  slightest  pro- 
vocation, or  on  no  provocation  at  all. 
And  with  a  troubled  conscience  she  began 
to  perceive  that  her  love  for  Jack  was 
waning.  She  respected  him  as  much  as 
ever,  but  his  presence  did  not  afford  her 
any  pleasure.  And  Jack  was  as  nice  to 
her,  as  loving,  as  kind  as  in  the  days  of 
their  engagement. 

A  year  passed  and  Juliet  had  to  eon- 

1£4 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 


fess  to  herself  in  horror  that  she  began 
to  dislike  Jack,  that  his  presence  was  dis- 
agreeable and  irritating  to  her.  She 
tried  her  very  hardest  to  conceal  her  feel- 
ings from  Jack,  and  for  a  time  she  suc- 
ceeded. But  it  is  easy  to  conceal  dislike 
or  even  hate  when  those  feelings  are 
purely  psychic.  It  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceal physical  dislike  from  a  person  with 
whom  j^ou  have  to  live — a  disengagement 
of  the  hand,  an  imperceptible  shiver  at 
the  person's  touch,  offering  the  cheek  or 
the  head  for  a  kiss  when  the  lips  are 
wanted — all  these  little  things  tell  a  story 
which  cannot  be  misunderstood;  in  unmis- 
takable language  they  tell  the  truth,  gall- 
bitter  as  that  may  be. 

And  one  day  Jack  knew  the  truth. 
And  again  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  shot — 
shot  by  a  big,  heavy  bullet,  which  crushed 
every  purpose  out  of  his  life.  He  loved 
Juliet  so  much!  He  felt  so  inexpres- 
sibly blissful  in  her  embrace,  at  her  very 

125 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

touch.  He  knew  the  dull  ghastly  fact, 
but  the  reason  he  did  not  guess.  He  did 
not  surmise  why  it  should  be  so.  He 
loved  Juilet  just  as  much  as  ever,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  she  aged  considerably  in 
the  three  years,  in  spite  of  her  irritability, 
in  spite  of  her  having  lost  her  plumpness, 
in  spite  of  her  sallow  complexion,  in  spite 
of  the  rings  around  her  eyes.  The  fact 
is  he  did  not  see  any  of  her  blemishes.  To 
him  she  was  as  beautiful  as  on  the  day  he 
saw  her  first.  But  what  could  have 
wrought  that  change  in  her?  He  could 
not  make  it  out.  He  always  considered  her 
very  much  above  himself.  He  knew  she 
was  too  good  for  him,  but  she  married 
him  of  her  own  free  will  and  accord,  there 
was  no  pressure  of  any  kind^ — so  why, 
why?  He  puzzled  and  puzzled  and  could 
not  make  it  out.  And  Juliet  did  not  tell 
him.  Perhaps  she  herself  did  not  know 
the  reason,  except  in  a  vague  indefinite 
manner.     Jack  endeavored  to  forget  his 

126 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

deep  sorrow  in  work.  He  spent  more 
time  with  his  students,  he  dug  deeper  in 
the  dusty  tomes  of  original  sources,  but 
in  vain. 

The  mainspring  of  his  life  was  broken. 
Some  months  passed.  Juliet  was  a 
shadow  of  her  former  self.  She  was  thin, 
languid,  and  looked  rather  like  a  crabbed 
old  maid  than  like  a,  young  married 
woman.  Even  Jack  could  not  fail  to  note 
the  great  change,  and  tho  he  loved  her 
with  his  former  love  he  had  to  confess  that 
he  had  before  him  only  a  parody  of  the 
Juliet  of  old.  He  insisted  that  a  physi- 
cian be  consulted.  One  specialist  after 
another  was  consulted.  She  was  exam- 
ined carefully — they  could  not  find  out 
the  nature  of  the  trouble.  All  they  could 
say  was  that  there  was  nothing  organically 
wrong.  The  lungs,  heart,  kidneys  and 
liver  were  in  good  condition.  Organic 
and  inorganic  preparations  of  iron,  phos- 
phorus, the  glycerophosphates,  strychnine 

127 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

and  several  other  remedies  of  the  ancient 
and  modern  materia  medica  were  tried 
on  her  with  no  result,  unless  spoiling  the 
stomach  occasionally  may  be  called  a  re- 
sult. 

Did  Jack  or  Juliet  perhaps  tliink  of  a 
separation  or  a  divorce?  The  idea  never 
even  for  a  moment  entered  the  mind  of 
either.  They  were  both  deeply  religious 
and  they  firmly  believed  that  whom  God 
hath  joined  together  no  man  shall  put 
asunder.  And  neither  thought  that  apart 
they  would  feel  better  than  together. 
And  Juliet  remained  a  dutiful  wife  and 
dutifully  supplied  the  rare  demands  that 
Jack  made  upon  her. 

Another  year  passed.  Juliet  became 
melancholic;  she  spoke  rarely  and  little, 
but  brooded  often  and  much,  and  once 
Juliet  began  to  act  queerly  and  had  Jack 
not  been  on  his  guard  and  caught  her  in 
time  she  would  have  flung  herself  out  of 
the  fourth  story  window.     Jack  called  in 

128 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

an  eminent  physician.  Fortunately  it 
was  a  physician  who  knew  something  more 
than  his  text  books,  who  did  some  think- 
ing on  his  own  account. 

After  examining  Juliet  and  hstening  to 
the  history  he  sized  up  the  situation  at 
once.  He  asked  Jack  to  come  to  his  of- 
fice the  following  day.  A  physical  ex- 
amination and  a  frank  talk  made  his  sur- 
mise a  certainty.  And  for  the  first  time 
after  several  years  of  married  life  did  Jack 
learn  the  painful  truth.  The  days  that 
followed  were  the  darkest  days  in  the  life 
of  Prof.  James  Martin.  His  ideals  of 
uprightness  and  nobleness  were  genuine 
— they  were  a  part  of  him.  And  of  one 
thing  he  was  sure,  he  had  no  right  to  tie 
Juliet  to  himself  for  life.  He  had  no 
right  to  crush  her  existence.  He  would 
give  her  a  divorce.  He  would,  of  course, 
take  all  the  blame  on  himself.  He  would 
furnish  a  cause  for  action  if  necessary. 
He  consulted  a  lawyer.     The  thing  pre- 

129 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

sented  some  difficulties,  but  could  be  ar- 
ranged. 

But  they  considered  without  Juliet. 
When  he  hesitatingly  broached  the  sub- 
ject to  her  she  was  thunderstruck.  She 
became  deathly  pale,  began  to  sway  and 
but  for  Jack's  support  would  have  fallen. 
She  misunderstood  the  matter  entirely. 
She  thought  that  Jack  wanted  the  divorce 
for  his  sake  so  that  he  might  marry 
another  woman!  When  Jack  gently  ex- 
plained to  her  that  it  was  for  her  sake, 
when  he  hinted  that  he  did  not  suit  her 
perhaps  and  that  she  might  be  happier 
with  another  man,  a  wave  of  overflowing 
tenderness  arose  within  her  and  she  per- 
emptorily refused  ever  to  hear  again  a 
word  about  divorce  or  separation. 

Platonically,  and  in  his  absence,  she 
loved  Jack  as  much  as  ever;  and  now  an 
all-conquering,  all-melting  feeling  of  pity 
for  him  was  born  in  her  heart,  and  this 
pity,  alloyed  with  the  greater  than  ever 

ISO 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

respect  for  the  nobility  of  his  character, 
made  her  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
kiss  him  impulsively,  if  not  passionately, 
on  the  lips  and  ask  forgiveness  for  the 
suffering  she  had  caused  him. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  weeks  of  ten- 
der peace — to  Jack  a  glimpse  of  his  former 
bliss.  But  not  for  long.  Juliet  fell  back 
into  her  melancholy  condition  and  her 
health  began  to  fail  perceptibly.  A  trip 
abroad  was  suggested.  It  could  do  no 
harm,  and  it  might  do  some  good.  Juliet 
was  indifferent.  They  went  to  Paris,  but 
Paris  seemed  to  exert  a  pernicious  influ- 
ence over  Juliet.  The  pictures  and  stat- 
ues in  the  Musee  du  Luxembourg,  the 
street  scenes,  the  theatrical  performances, 
all  tended  to  make  her  more  irritable,  more 
melancholy. 

Jack's  heart  ached  as  he  looked  at 
Juliet,  but  he  was  helpless.  They  decided 
to  go  from  Paris  to  a  quiet  spot  in  Swit- 
zerland.    Under    the    influence    of    the 

131 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

grand,  majestic  and  at  the  same  time 
sweet,  charm  of  Swiss  nature  JuHet  im- 
proved somewhat.  She  slept  better  and 
she  became  calmer.  Hope  springs  eternal 
in  the  breast  of  man  and  again  Jack  be- 
gan to  hope  that  perhaps  things  would 
arrange  themselves  and  Juliet  would  be- 
come reconciled  to  her  lot. 

A  trifling  occurrence  seemed  to  have 
brought  about  a  crisis.  A  young  couple 
abroad  on  their  honeymoon  journey  ar- 
rived at  the  hotel.  The  innocent,  tho 
somewhat  demonstrative,  love-making  of 
the  young  people  seemed  to  irritate  Juliet 
beyond  endurance.  Their  flirting  acix)ss 
the  table,  their  hand-pressing,  their  close 
walking  arm  in  arm,  their  semi-clandestine 
embraces  and  kisses  began  to  make  her 
frantic  and  rude.  She  felt  she  was  un- 
reasonable, tho  the  young  people  were  not 
in  any  way  to  blame,  but  she  could  not 
help  it. 

One  evening  she  had  a  violent  fit  of 

132 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

hysterics,  and  wliile  in  her  hysterical  con- 
dition she  said  some  unpleasant  things  to 
Jack.  Jack  tried  to  pacify  her,  but  his 
efforts  made  matters  worse.  Without 
realizing  exactly  what  she  said,  she  made 
a  remark  which  stabbed  Jack  thru  the 
heart.  He  felt  that  the  wound  was  in- 
curable, and  the  chasm  between  Juliet  and 
himself  could  never  be  bridged.  And  the 
horrible  consciousness  that  he,  he  alone 
was  to  blame,  made  liim  sick,  deathly  sick, 
at  heart.  Life  seemed  to  him  a  burden 
too  heavy  to  be  borne  any  longer. 

Prof.  Jack  Martin  did  a  good  deal  of 
mountain  chmbing  during  his  stay  in 
Switzerland.  JuHet  did  not  want  him  all 
the  time  around  her,  and  as  she  could  not 
accompany  him  on  his  lofty  expeditions 
he  went  alone.  For  too  dangerous  as- 
cents he  took  a  guide.  The  morning 
after  Juliet's  attack.  Jack  declared  that 
he  would  climb  the  Matterhorn.  His 
guide  Joseph,  who  had  become  much  aX- 

133 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

tached  to  him,  was  with  him.  He  bade 
Juliet  good-bye.  Perhaps  if  she  had 
looked  at  him  more  closely,  or  if  she  had 
been  a  better  observer,  she  would  have  not 
let  him  go.  For  he  did  not  look  a  bit 
well.  Evidently  he  had  not  closed  his 
eyes  during  the  night;  but  Juliet  did  not 
look  very  closely,  nor  was  she  very  ob- 
servant.    And  so  Jack  went. 

In  the  afternoon  the  guide  came  back 
to  the  hotel — alone.  He  was  greatly  per- 
turbed. Prof.  Martin  had  lost  his  foot- 
ing and  disappeared.  He  cautioned  him 
that  it  was  a  dangerous  crevasse^  he  told 
him  not  to  attempt  any  short  cut,  but  he 
paid  no  attention.  He  said  he  felt  per- 
fectly secure.  When  the  guide  looked 
around,  Prof.  Martin  was  not  to  be  seen 
anywhere.  If  he  slipped  and  fell  down, 
then  his  death  was  certain.  He  looked 
for  him  for  a  good  two  hours  but  he  could 
find  no  trace  of  him.  The  news  was 
broken  gently  to  Mrs.  Martin.     It  was 

134 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

not  certain  that  anything  serious  had  hap- 
pened to  him.  He  might  have  simply- 
lost  his  way.  With  a  shaking,  fainting 
feeling  at  her  heart  she  gave  orders  not 
to  spare  any  expense.  A  party  of  res- 
cuers consisting  of  seasoned  and  experi- 
enced guides  of  the  neighborhood,  ac- 
companied by  two  clever  St.  Bernards, 
was  sent  out.  They  searched  late  into 
the  night;  when  it  became  dark  torches 
were  lighted.  But  all  was  in  vain. 
When  the  morning  came  the  search  was 
renewed.  At  last  they  were  rewarded. 
The  spot  was  found  where  Prof.  Martin 
must  have  fallen.  His  cap  and  alpen- 
stock were  near  the  opening  of  what 
seemed  a  bottomless  chasm.  To  attempt 
to  descend  there  would  have  been  mad- 
ness, for  it  meant  a  certain  icy  death. 
And  so  Prof.  Martin's  body  was  never 
recovered.  Was  it  an  unfortunate  acci- 
dent, or  was  it  a  dehberate  misstep  into 
the  abyss? 

135 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

The  shock  that  Juliet  experienced  on 
learning  of  the  death  of  Jack  was  severe 
and  surprised  her  by  its  poignancy,  by  its 
crushing  weight.  She  had  thought  she 
had  not  loved  Jack  any  more;  but  now 
her  old  love  for  him  came  back  in  its 
full  force.  His  sweet,  noble  face  stood 
before  her  day  and  night,  and  the  gentle 
majesty  of  his  character  became  every 
day  more  and  more  apparent  to  her.  The 
fact  that  she  was  unable  to  see  his  dead 
face,  and  the  recollection  of  the  way  she 
had  treated  him  on  the  last  evening  served 
to  increase  her  distress.  She  fell  seriously 
ill  and  had  to  be  taken  to  a  sanitarium. 

But  time  heals  all  wounds — no,  not  all, 
but  most  wounds — especially  when  the  pa- 
tient is  young  and  is  possessed  of  a  good 
constitution.  And  Juliet  was  young  and 
had  an  excellent  constitution. 

•  ••••• 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  that  fatal 

event  and  Juliet  is  still  unable  to  think 

136 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

of  it  without  a  slight  shudder.  But 
Juliet  looks  quite  different  from  what  she 
did  ten  years  ago.  She  looks  almost  as 
she  did  the  day  Jack  Martin  met  her  first, 
some  fifteen  years  previously.  She  is  a 
picture  of  health,  of  refined,  buoyant, 
vigorous  womanhood. 

Her  marriage  to  Parker  Drew  took 
place  at  the  end  of  the  third  year  of  her 
widowhood.  Drew  wooed  her  passion- 
ately; he  appealed  to  her  nature  very 
strongly  and  she  felt  the  need  of  male 
companionship  very  acutely.  But  she 
hesitated — she  refused.  The  picture  of 
Jack  Martin  was  deeply  engraved  in  her 
heart  and  his  memory  was  getting  dearer 
to  her  with  every  passing  day.  But  Drew 
was  not  the  man  to  take  "  No,"  when  he 
wanted  something;  and  he  wanted  Juhet 
with  every  fiber  of  his  body  and  soul.  He 
demanded  the  reason  for  her  persistent  re- 
fusal. She  told  him  of  her  love  for  Jack, 
for  his  memory.     He  did  not  mind  that. 

137 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

As  long  as  she  would  learn  to  love  him  a 
little  living,  he  did  not  mind  her  loving 
Jack  dead.  He  persisted.  The  man  is 
not  worth  his  salt  who  cannot  obtain  what- 
ever he  wants  from  the  woman  he  loves, 
if  given  but  half  a  chance,  and  Parker 
Drew  told  her  he  would  have  her  whether 
she  wanted  it  or  not.  Unremitting  per- 
sistence generally  wins  the  point. 

Parker  Drew  persisted  and  Juliet  ac- 
cepted. And  from  the  day  she  became 
Parker's  wife  her  love  for  him  has  kept 
on  increasing.  She  cannot  imagine  how 
she  could  pass  a  day  or  night  without  him. 
Her  three  children.  Jack,  Martin  and 
Juliet,  idolize  their  parents  and  are  idolized 
by  them.  A  happy,  intellectual  family 
is  the  envy  of  the  gods,  and  the  Drews 
are  envied  by  the  gods. 

Has  Juliet  forgotten  Jack?  Not  in  the 
least.  Her  memory  of  him  is  undimmed 
and  untarnished.  She  loves  to  think  of 
him,  of  the  days  of  their  courtship,  of  the 

138 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

first  years  of  their  married  life.  Parker 
knows  of  her  platonic  love  for  Jack  Mar- 
tin and  he  does  not  mind  it.  He  is  too 
healthy  a  specimen  to  bother  himself  with 
fine  abstract  questions.  He  is  sure  of 
Juliet's  love.  He  knows  that  he  has  be- 
come indispensable  to  her,  and  he  is  hap- 
py in  the  knowledge.  Juliet  often  won- 
ders if  she  is  not  committing  a  sort  of 
bigamy;  if  it  is  right  for  her  to  love  two 
persons  at  the  same  time,  even  if  the  love 
for  one  person  is  purely  platonic  and  that 
person  is  no  longer  among  the  living. 
But  the  presence  or  even  the  voice  of 
Parker  reassures  her,  all  her  scruples  dis- 
appear and  she  feels  supremely  happy. 
And  as  long  as  everybody  is  happy,  why 
should  we  care? 


The  seventh  and  last  volume  of  Prof. 
Giacomo  JMartini's  History  of  the  An- 
cient Peoples  has  just  made  its  appear- 

139 


LIFE  HISTORY  OF  AN  IDEAL  MAN 

■I 

ance.  By  experts  it  is  pronounced  the 
greatest  history  that  has  ever  been  writ- 
ten, and  is  a  monument  not  only  to  the 
author's  wonderful  erudition,  but  to  his 
unremitting  energy  and  limitless  capac- 
ity for  work.  His  original  researches 
which  brought  to  light  numerous  hitherto 
inaccessible  and  even  unsuspected  sources, 
his  clear  diction  and  sympathetic  under- 
standing of  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  Romans  have  made  these  peo- 
ples appear  in  an  entirely  new  light. 
Honors  and  distinctions  have  been 
showered  upon  Prof.  Martini,  but  the 
world  knows  little  of  him,  as  he  but  sel- 
dom leaves  the  solitude  of  his  studio  in 
his  secluded  villa  at  Capri. 


140 


A  NEVER-TOLD  TALES  MISUN- 
DERSTANDING 


A  NEVER-TOLD  TALES  MISUN- 
DERSTANDING 

XN  spite  of  the  attacks  on  our  mar- 
riage system  by  our  good  radicals 
and  free  lovers,  legal  marriages 
are  srtiU  taking  place  and  will  probably 
continue  to  take  place  for  some  time  to 
oome.  And  even  radicals  who  ridicule  the 
idea  that  true  love  needs  the  additional 
bonds  of  a  minister's  formula  or  a  magis- 
trate's seal,  still  consider  it  wiser  to  tie 
themselves  with  those  additional  bonds. 
James  Harvey  and  Cleo  Broughton  were 
radicals.  They  were  convinced  that  love 
did  not  need  any  legal  ceremony,  while 
marriage  without  love  was  like  a  thread 
of  gossamer  which  could  not  and  should 
not  hold  two  human  beings  together;  they 
beheved  with  Ellen  Key  that  love  with- 
out marriage  was  moral,  while  marriage 
without  love  was  immoral;  and  neverthe- 

148 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


less  when  the  day  came  around,  they  did 
get  married.  And  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  tied  to  each  other  by  legal 
chains,  they^  contrary  to  the  statements 
of  the  antimatrimonialists,  felt  happy. 
Very  happy.  For  over  two  years  not  a 
tiny  cloud  crossed  the  horizon  of  their 
domestic  felicity.  Then  Mrs.  Harvey 
thought  she  wanted  to  have  a  baby.  At 
first  she  used  precautions;  she  did  not 
want  to  have  a  baby  too  soon ;  but  latterly 
she  not  only  gave  up  using  precautions, 
but  did  everything  she  knew  to  get  in  an 
interesting  position.  But  still  the  baby 
did  not  come. 

A  year  passed,  and  then  another  year. 
And  then  she  felt  chagrined.  Her  ma- 
ternal instinct  asserted  itself  more  and 
more  strongly  in  spite  of  her  radical  ideas. 
She  went  to  a  physician,  who  told  her  that 
he  did  not  see  that  there  was  anything 
the  matter  with  her.  Accidentally  she 
came  across  an  early  edition  of  "  Never- 

144 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


Told  Tales,"  and  as  she  read  the  tales 
therein  told  her  interest  grew;  and  so  did 
her  anxiety  and  her  doubt;  and  when  she 
came  to  the  story  of  Betty  and  Bob  her 
doubt  grew  to  a  certainty.  She  was  sure 
that  she  would  never  have  a  child  and  she 
was  sure  that  James  was  the  cause  of  it. 
She  felt  blue  and  irritable  for  several  days. 
She  spoke  to  James  in  monosyllables. 
He  could  not  understand  the  change  in 
his  wife's  behavior.  James  was  of  an 
equable  temperament,  and  believed  in  al- 
lowing things  to  take  their  o^\ti  course. 
One  day  she  got  up  courage  and  said: 

"  James,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
something." 

"Yes,  dear,  what  is  it?" 

She  blushed,  she  hesitated,  she  stam- 
mered, but  finally  she  did  bring  it  out; 

"  James,  have  you  ever  had  a  venereal 
disease? " 

"  Why,  what  has  got  into  your  head  ? 
Why  do  you  ask? " 

145 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


"  Answer  me,  it  is  of  gi'eat  importance 
for  me  to  know  the  truth." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  had  a  mild  attack  several 
years  before  I  married  you,  but  I  was 
completely  cured.  I  was  pronounced 
perfectly  cured  by  the  physician  who 
treated  me.  Several  weeks  before  our 
wedding  I  went  to  Dr.  N.,  who  examined 
me  again  and  pronounced  me  cirred  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  and  said  that 
I  could  get  married  without  any  liesita- 
tion." 

No,  her  worst  suspicions  were  now 
certainties.  She  knew  what  those 
"  cures  "  meant.  She  had  read  in  a  book 
that  once  a  gonorrhea  always  a  gonor- 
rhea, and  she  was  sure  that  James  was  in 
the  same  condition  that  Bob  was,  and  that 
she  would  have  to  go  thru  life  barren; 
she  felt  sure  that  she  would  never  carry 
a  human  being  under  her  heart,  that  the 
laugh  of  a  child  would  never  be  hers. 
And  with  that  conviction  her  longing  for 

U6 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


a  child  became  terrible  in  its  intensity. 

A  year  passed.  A  year  of  gloom,  of 
pouting,  of  reconciliation.  Finally  Cleo 
completely  retired  within  herself;  she 
hardly  exchanged  a  word  with  James. 
And  one  morning  she  told  him  that  she 
had  decided  it  would  be  best  for  them  to 
separate. 

"  How,  separate?"  asked  James.  "  For 
a  time? " 

"  No,  forever.  I  don't  think  we  are 
properly  mated.  And  I  want  to  be  a 
mother." 

James  was  hit  very  hard.  But  true 
radicals  are  not  supposed  to  exercise  any 
coercion  on  their  life  partners ;  it  would  be 
considered  an  indelible  disgrace  to  employ 
any  force,  to  make  any  use  of  marital 
rights.  All  James  asked  was  that  she 
should  wait  a  few  days,  before  she  took 
what  might  prove  an  irretrievable  step. 
James  went  to  one  of  New  York's  best 
specialists  in  genito-urinary  diseases.     He 

147 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


told  him  his  history  and  asked  the  doctor 
to  subject  him  to  the  most  painstaking, 
most  searching  examination.  The  doctor 
did.  And  he  pronounced  him  perfectly 
well.  James  Harvey  went  to  another 
specialist  and  then  still  to  another.  All 
pronounced  him  perfectly  well;  as  well  as 
if  he  had  never  had  any  disease.  James 
then  had  a  talk  with  Cleo.  He  mildly 
suggested  it  was  possible  that  the  cause 
of  her  not  becoming  a  mother  lay  in  her- 
self. Oh,  no.  She  was  sure  of  that.  He 
assured  her  he  was  perfectly  healthy. 
No,  that  could  not  be.  She  had  read 
several  articles  on  the  subject,  and  from 
"  Never-Told  Tales  "  she  had  got  the  im- 
pression that  men  never  get  perfectly 
well  of  those  diseases.  They  finally 
decided  to  go  to  a  speciahst  well  known 
in  radical  circles  and  to  abide  by  his  ver- 
dict. 

They  went.     The  doctor  examined  him, 
found  no  trace  of  any  trouble,  and  with- 

148 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


out  hesitation  pronounced  him  perfectly- 
healthy,  capable  of  being  the  father  of 
numerous  progeny.  He  then  suggested 
that  the  proper  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
examine  INIrs.  Harvey.  He  examined 
her,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  discovering 
the  cause  of  her  childlessness.  She  had  a 
strongly  retroflexed  uterus,  with  an  ex- 
tremely small  OS.  He  suggested  treat- 
ment. And  he  gave  ]Mrs.  Harvey  a  little 
lecture  on  the  dangers  of  a  little  knowl- 
edge, and  of  jumping  at  conclusions. 
He  explained  to  her  that  if  all  men  who 
get  venereal  disease  never  got  perfectly 
well,  the  civilized  world  would  soon  be 
depopulated.  A  very  large  percentage 
of  people  do  get  perfectly  well,  and  have 
as  normal  progeny  as  if  they  never  had 
any  disease. 

Mrs.  Harvey  imderwent  treatment  for 
about  two  months,  and  ten  months  after 
her  last  visit  to  the  doctor  she  gave  birth 
to  a  boy,  and  again  there  is  no  happier 

149 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


couple  in  New  York  than  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
James  Harvey. 

Had  an  ill-fate  left  Mr.  Harvey  with 
some  slight  sequela  of  his  original  disease, 
a  sequela  which  would  have  made  it  prob- 
able that  he  was  the  cause  of  the  steriUty, 
a  catastrophe  would  have  occurred  and  an 
otherwise  happy  home  would  have  been 
disrupted.  And  a  good  share  of  the  fault 
would  with  justice  have  been  ascribable 
to  "  Never-Told  Tales."  But  is  a  writer 
responsible  if  people  misunderstand  his 
thoughts,  draw  wrong  conclusions  from 
insufficient  premises,  or  read  into  his  writ- 
ings a  meaning  which  is  just  the  contrary 
of  the  one  he  meant  to  convey?  Some- 
times he  is  to  blame — for  not  writing  so 
that  there  could  be  no  possibility  of  mis- 
understanding;  but  in  many  cases  the 
fault  lies  with  the  readers.  An  author's 
writing  may  be  as  clear  as  crystal,  and 
still  he  will  be  misunderstood  by  some — 
whose  minds  are  muddled.     This  is  un- 

150 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


avoidable.  There  is  one  consolation  that 
an  honest  writer  can  always  have:  This 
consolation  is  to  be  found  in  the  following 
words  of  Herbert  Spencer: 

"  Whoever  hesitates  to  utter  that  which 
he  thinks  the  highest  truth,  lest  it  should 
be  too  much  in  advance  of  the  time,  may 
reassure  himself  by  looking  at  his  acts 
from  an  impersonal  point  of  view.  Let 
him  duly  realize  the  fact  that  opinion  is 
the  agency  thru  which  character  adapts 
external  arrangements  to  itself  —  that 
his  opinion  rightly  forms  part  of  this 
agency  —  is  a  unit  of  force,  constituting, 
with  other  such  units,  the  general  power 
which  works  out  social  changes;  and  he 
will  perceive  that  he  may  properly  give 
full  utterance  to  his  innermost  conviction: 
leaving  it  to  produce  what  effect  it  may. 
It  is  not  for  nothing  that  he  has  in  him 
these  sympathies  with  some  principles  and 
repugnance  to  others.  He,  with  all  his 
capacities  and  aspirations,  and  beliefs,  is 

151 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 


not  an  accident,  but  a  product  of  the  time. 
He  must  remember  that  while  he  is  a  de- 
scendant of  the  past,  he  is  a  parent  of  the 
future;  and  that  his  thoughts  are  as  chil- 
dren born  to  him,  which  he  may  not  care- 
lessly let  die.  .  .  .  Not  as  adventi- 
tious therefore  will  the  wise  man  regard 
the  faith  which  is  in  him.  The  highest 
truth  he  sees  he  will  fearlessly  utter; 
knowing  that,  let  what  may  come  of  it,  he 
is  thus  playing  his  right  part  in  the  world 
—  knowing  that  if  he  can  effect  the 
change  he  aims  at,  well :  if  not  —  well 
also :  tho  not  so  well." 


152 


A  PAGE  FROM  THE  LIFE  OF 
PROFESSOR  BEAUMONT 


A  PAGE   FROM   THE   LIFE   OF 
PROFESSOR   BEAUMONT 

XT  was  a  hot  sultry  afternoon  in 
the  month  of  August,  twenty-five 
years  ago.  In  the  hfe  of  an  in- 
dmdual  twenty-five  years  is  a  long  period, 
yet  as  I  close  my  eyes  I  can  see  the  whole 
scene  as  if  I  had  witnessed  it  yesterday. 
I  was  at  that  time  the  proud — no,  not 
very  proud — owner  of  a  drugstore  on 
upper  Third  Avenue,  Harlem — a  place 
which  used  to  be  then,  but  is  no  longer 
now  (for  the  rents  are  too  high)  referred 
to  occasionally  as  Goatville.  Business 
was  rather  slow  that  afternoon,  as  indeed 
it  was  most  of  the  time,  and  I  w^as  not 
very  sorry  that  it  was  slow.  I  was  still 
very  young  and  I  much  preferred  the 
companionship  of  books  to  the  prosaic 
work  of  selling  Epsom  Salts  or  Hood's 
Sarsaparilla  (that  was  the  favorite  pat- 

155 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

ent  medicine  of  that  period,  Peruna  and 
Liquezone  not  yet  having  been  born),  or 
making  up  pills  and  suppositories. 

On  that  particular  afternoon,  I  remem- 
ber, I  was  whiling  my  time  away  reading 
Hugo's  I/homme  qui  Rit.  I  must  have 
been  very  much  engrossed  in  Hugo's 
fantasy,  for  I  heard  no  footsteps  and 
looked  up  with  a  start  on  hearing  a  slight 
apologetic  cough.  Before  me,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  counter,  was  standing  a 
tall,  gaunt,  seedy — very  seedy — looking 
individual.  His  stubby  beard  was  of  sev- 
eral days'  or  several  weeks'  growth;  his 
eyes  were  sunken  and  so  were  his  cheeks; 
his  color  was  ashy  gray ;  his  shirt  and  col- 
lar had  apparently  not  been  changed  for 
weeks  and  the  necktie  was  noticeable  by 
its  absence.  He  wore  heavy  winter 
clothes,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  we  were  in 
the  midst  of  August  and  the  thermometer 
registered  98  degrees  in  the  shade. 

"  Poor  bum  "  was  the  first  thought  that 

156 


PAGE    FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

flitted  across  my  mind.  Yes,  a  bum  in- 
deed in  external  appearance,  and  still 
when  you  looked  a  little  closer  you  could 
not  help  thinking :  "  No,  not  altogether 
a  bum,  or  if  a  bum,  he  has  not  always 
been  one.  He  must  have  had  hard  luck." 
I  laid  my  book  on  the  counter  and  asked 
him  what  I  could  do  for  him.  He  shuffled 
and  hesitated,  and  his  face  changed  color, 
turning  scarlet  and  then  ashy-gray.  I 
saw  that  the  request  came  hard  to  him, 
and  as  I  looked  at  him  more  closely  I  was 
convinced  that  I  had  to  do  w  ith  a  fiend. 
Morphine  fiends  were  the  only  fiends  we 
had  at  that  time.  The  anesthetic  proper- 
ties of  cocaine  had  not  yet  been  discov- 
ered then  and  we  had  no  cocaine  fiends. 
Nor  were  there  any  chloral  or  ether  ha- 
bitues. I  felt  great  pity  for  the  fellow 
and  told  him  again  to  say  what  he 
wanted  and  I  would  see  if  I  could  do  it 
for  him.  He  finally  made  his  request  and 
made  it  in  excellent  English,  but  in  Eng- 

157 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

lish  which  nevertheless  betrayed  the  for- 
eigner. And  what  he  said  was  this: 
"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  give  me 
or  sell  me  ten  grains  of  morphine.  I  have 
not  any  money,  but  I  shall  pay  you  in  a 
week  or  two."  The  man's  request  cer- 
tainly nonplussed  me,  and  as  I  was  going 
to  interpose  some  objection,  he  began  to 
talk  volubly  in  French,  noticing  on  the 
counter  the  French  book  that  I  had  been 
reading.  "  Oh,  please  don't  refuse  me. 
No,  I  am  not  going  to  kill  myself.  I  am 
addicted  to  the  use  of  morphine.  Yes,  I 
know  what  you  think  of  me.  You  could 
never  think  of  me  as  badly  as  I  do  my- 
self. But  I  cannot  stand  it  any  longer. 
I  must  have  it.  I  have  been  tramping 
around  the  whole  day,  without  food,  have 
been  in  twelve  or  fifteen  drugstores,  but 
in  everyone  they  told  me  gruffly  to  get 
out.  Please  don't  you  refuse  me.  I  must 
have  it.  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer,  I 
cant. 

158 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

As  he  was  nervously  swallowing  his 
words,  I  noticed  that  he  was  trembling  all 
over  and  he  had  to  catch  the  counter  to 
prevent  himself  from  falling.  I  waited 
no  longer,  but  went  to  the  poison  closet, 
weighed  out  the  morphine  and  brought  it 
to  him.  I  told  him  I  would  give  him  the 
drug,  but  he  must  promise  me  to  go  with 
me  to  the  backroom  and  have  something 
to  eat.  He  seemed  surprised,  took  a  pinch 
of  morphine — I  judged  about  two  grains 
— and  went  with  me  in  the  microscopic 
backroom — my  friends  will  still  remem- 
ber it — where  I  sat  him  down  in  a  chair 
and  told  him  to  make  himself  thoroly  at 
home.  Some  color  came  to  his  ashy-gray 
cheeks  and  a  look  of  gratitude  overspread 
his  face.  As  he  removed  his  hat,  I  noticed 
his  unusually  high  forehead,  the  forehead 
of  a  student.  I  personally  prepared  some 
coffee  for  my  guest,  and  if  I  made 
the  coffee  exceptionally  strong,  it  was 
with  a  double  purpose;  to  stimulate  his 

159 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

failing  strength  and  at  the  same  time  to 
act  as  an  antidote  to  the  morphine.  The 
well-informed  know  that  a  strong  infu- 
sion of  coffee  is  a  good  antidote  for  mor- 
phine, both  on  account  of  the  caffeine  and 
the  tannic  acid  that  it  contains.  My  guest 
drank  three  cups  of  coffee  and  ate  several 
slices  of  bread  and  butter  and  felt  much 
strengthened  and  refreshed — this  was 
quite  evident.  He  did  not  speak ;  neither 
did  I,  but  I  was  becoming  quite  interested. 
As  he  got  up  to  go,  bidding  me  adieu,  I 
told  him :  "  No,  not  adieu,  but  au  revoir, 
I  will  ask  you  no  questions,  but  you  must 
promise  to  come  to-morrow  for  break- 
fast." And  I  gave  him  a  dollar,  a  whole 
dollar,  which  was  a  lot  of  money  for  me 
at  that  time — and  asked  him  to  take  a 
shave  and  buy  himself  a  shirt  and  collar. 
I  gave  him  one  of  my  ties.  He  took  the 
money  simply,  without  ceremony  and 
left. 

I  was  thinking  of  the  fellow  all  night 

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PAGE    FRQINI   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR   B. 

and  was  wondering  whether  he  would 
come  in  the  morning  or  not.  He  came, 
and  I  had  great  difficulty  in  recognizing 
him.  It  was  remarkable  what  a  change  a 
shave  and  a  clean  collar  and  shirt-front 
will  make  in  a  man.  He  came  again  the 
following  day  and  he  came  for  many, 
many  more  days.  I  used  to  take  my 
breakfast  and  supper  in  the  store — as 
thousands  of  poor  druggists  are  still  do- 
ing now — going  out  only  for  dinner,  and 
those  two  meals  I  invited  my  unknown 
guest  to  share  with  me.  As  I  said,  he 
came  for  many,  many  days.  And  grad- 
ually I  learned  his  sad  story. 

His  name — we  will  call  him  Beaumont. 
First,  because  this  is  not  his  name,  and 
second,  because  it  is  very  nearly  his  name 
— in  another  language.  His  age  was 
about  28;  his  nationality  was  Swiss.  He 
spoke  and  wrote  French,  English,  Ger- 
man and  Italian  correctly  and  fluently 
He  was  a  graduate  of  the  University  of 

161 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 


Lausanne,  from  which  he  had  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  He  knew 
"everything,"  but  his  favorite  subject 
was  chemistry,  and  in  history  and  geog- 
raphy he  was  a  walking  encyclopedia. 
He  was  laboratory  instructor  and  assist- 
ant in  chemistry  to  Prof.  P.  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  B.  His  salary  was  a  ridicu- 
lously low  one — so  low  that  with  us  in 
America  it  would  excite  a  smile  of  in- 
credulity if  I  stated  it.  On  this  salary 
he  had  to  support  himself  and  his  old 
mother.  He  had  been  an  only  child.  His 
parents  were  poor  Swiss  farmers,  in  fact 
peasants.  His  father  died  when  he  was 
very  young.  The  mother  was  an  intelli- 
gent and  ambitious  woman.  Instead  of 
putting  him  to  work  on  the  farm  when 
he  was  thru  with  public  school,  she  worked 
her  fingers  off,  toiling  literally  every  day 
from  early  morn  till  late  at  night,  to  be 
able  to  send  her  boy  to  college  and  then 
to  the  University.     Luckily,  he  was  a 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

good  student,  and  he  worked  hard.  At 
all  his  examinations  he  carried  off  most 
of  the  prizes.  Fortune  seemed  to  smile 
on  him  and  his  dream,  his  dream  since 
early  youth,  to  establish  a  nice  comfort- 
able home,  so  that  his  mother,  whom  he 
loved  passionately,  might  pass  the  rest  of 
her  days  in  peace  and  comfort,  seemed  to 
be  near  realization.  During  his  last  year 
in  the  University  he  fell  in  love  with  a 
very  sweet  girl  who  reciprocated  his  af- 
fection. He  showed  me  her  picture  and 
I  gladly  admitted  that  it  zvas  a  sweet  and 
gentle  face.  And  when  he  received  his 
diploma  cum  magna  laiide  and  then  got 
the  assistantship  in  the  University  he 
was  a  very  happy  man.  He  entered  into 
his  work  with  enthusiasm.  All  went  well. 
A  year  or  two  passed,  and  while  his 
work  was  appreciated,  there  came  no  raise 
in  his  beggarly  salary.  The  home  was 
still  a  dream  and  his  mother  was  getting 
older  and  weaker.     He  saw  that  on  his 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

salary  he  could  never  get  married  and 
support  a  wife  and  mother.  He  began 
to  look  around  for  other  openings,  but 
his  efforts  were  not  crowned  with  success. 
He  became  irritable,  despondent,  pessi- 
mistic— and  therefore  unjust.  He  began 
to  think  that  he  was  being  "  held  down  " 
deliberately.  He  thought  Prof.  P.  was 
jealous  of  his  knowledge  and  would  give 
him  no  chance  to  advance  himself.  Such 
a  period  comes  into  the  life  of  almost 
every  high-strung  young  man;  when  he 
sees  that  his  dreams  and  ambitions  are 
not  being  realized  as  rapidly  as  he,  in  his 
youthful  ardor,  expected,  he  begins  to 
think  that  all  the  world  has  entered  into 
a  conspiracy  against  him.  As  just  stated, 
he  became  irritable  and  unjust.  He  had 
a  falling  out  with  Prof.  P.  and  within  the 
same  week  he  also  quarreled  with  the 
light  of  his  life — his  sweetheart.  He 
thought  she  was  not  showing  him  enough 
sympathy.     In  fact,  in  his   falling  out 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR   B. 

with  Prof.  P.  she  thought  that  Prof.  P. 
was  right  and  her  beloved  one  was  wrong. 
He  resigned  from  the  University,  was 
too  proud  to  ask  forgiveness  from  his 
sweetheart — and  as  he  now  had  nothing 
to  Hve  for  in  Switzerland,  he  decided  to 
emigrate  to  America,  the  land  where  it 
rains  golden  ducats  and  where  it  is  only 
necessary  to  stoop  down  to  fill  your 
pockets  with  them. 

He  expected  that  with  his  knowledge 
he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
a  position  at  a  salary  which  would  quickly 
bring  him  to  the  realization  of  his  modest 
dream :  the  establishment  of  a  home.  His 
mother  was  opposed  to  his  going,  but  he 
was  determined.  She  accompanied  him 
to  Pontarlier — on  the  Swiss-French  fron- 
tier. It  broke  her  heart  to  see  him  go — 
she  said  she  would  never  lay  her  eyes  on 
him  again  and  he  was  the  only  thing  she 
had  in  the  world — and  she  sobbed  and 
wept  bitterly,   something  which  he  had 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF  PROFESSOR   B. 

never  seen  her  do  before.  The  hard- 
working Swiss  people  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  giving  external  vent  to  their  feelings. 
His  heart  felt  as  if  it  weighed  a  ton  and 
he  became  sick  with  nostalgia — a  terrible 
feeling  indeed — before  he  was  an  hour's 
distance  from  the  Swiss  frontier.  Of 
course  he  could  not  turn  back — far  bet- 
ter it  would  have  been  if  he  had,  right 
then  and  there — and  so  he  came  to  Amer- 
ica. He  felt  heavy,  but  he  was  buoyed 
up  by  hopes. 

His  disenchantment  began  at  the  very 
threshhold  of  the  country.  He  was  dumb- 
founded and  deeply  pained  at  the  manner 
in  which  the  emigrants  at  Castle  Garden 
were  treated  by  the  officials.  The  han- 
dling of  the  crowd  by  the  policemen  was 
still  worse — gruff  and  brutal.  He  was 
not  used  to  such  things.  Coming  from  a 
republic,  where  the  people  are  equal  not 
only  in  theory  but  in  fact,  where  the  po- 
lice and  other  officials  look  upon  them- 

166 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF  PROFESSOR   B. 

selves  as  ordinary  citizens  and  treat  the 
poor  and  rich  alike,  with  equal  courtesy, 
he  was  deeply  shocked  by  what  he  saw  on 
the  first  day  of  his  arrival  into  the  land 
of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

A  greater  shock  was  preserved  for  him 
for  the  second  day  of  his  sojourn.  He 
saw  then  an  entirely  new  phenomenon.  It 
may  be  remarked  that  Dr.  Beaumont's 
hat  and  clothes  were  not  of  the  latest 
American  pattern.  And  then  he  wore  a 
full  beard,  and  what  is  still  a  worse  of- 
fense in  the  eyes  of  the  New  York  hood- 
lum, his  hair  in  the  back  was  quite  long. 
We  Americans  are  the  only  nation  in  the 
world  that  demands  that  everybody 
should  look  alike  and  be  dressed  alike, 
and  ours  is  the  only  country — perhaps  I 
should  only  speak  of  New  York — in  which 
a  man  is  hooted  and  insulted  to  his  face, 
if  he  happens  to,  or  dares  to,  look  "  dif- 
ferent." And  Dr.  Beaumont  did  look 
diiFerent.    He  was  walking  in  one  of  the 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

upper  Eastside  streets,  deeply  engrossed 
in  thoughts  of  the  past  and  future,  with 
a  heart  as  heavy  as  lead,  when  all  at  once 
he  noticed  himself  surrounded  by  a  mob 
of  little  urchins,  who  were  yelling  some- 
thing, to  him  unintelligible.  He  at  first 
thought  that  the  boys  were  asking  for  a 
penny;  he  had  met  such  crowds  of  boys, 
asking  "^  un  soldo,  signore"!  in  different 
parts  of  Italy.  He  soon  discovered,  how- 
ever, that  the  urchins  were  not  begging. 
After  a  while  he  could  distinguish  the 
word  "  whiskers,"  and  he  finally  made  out 
that  the  future  pillars  of  the  American 
republic,  our  future  citizens  and  sover- 
eigns, were  advising  him  to  get  a  haircut. 
Very  soon  pebbles  began  to  fly  and  one 
of  them  knocked  his  hat  off.  More  than 
a  year  had  elapsed  since  this  apparently 
trifling  incident  and  still  when  he  related 
it  to  me,  his  voice  was  trembling  and  there 
were  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  told  me  he  felt 
so  heartsick  that  he  would  have  welcomed 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

death  at  the  moment.  Had  he  been  at- 
tacked by  footpads  and  robbed,  he  would 
not  have  felt  so  badly.  Every  large  city 
has  some  tough  characters,  but  something, 
he  thought,  must  be  organically  wrong  in 
the  life  and  the  education  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  if  the  children — not 
only  the  guttersnipes,  but  the  children  of 
the  apparently  well-to-do — for  many  of 
them  were  well  dressed — could  be  so  ut- 
terly devoid  of  respect  to  their  elders,  so 
impudent  and  so  malicious.  His  shock  was 
particularly  severe,  because  the  thing  was 
so  entirely  new  to  him,  so  unusual.  He 
had  seen  very  poor  children,  he  had  seen 
street  urchins,  but  he  had  never  seen 
urchins  with  enough  brazenness  and.  im- 
pudence in  them  to  dare  to  jeer  at  and  in- 
sult a  passer-by.  You  can  go  thru  Switz- 
erland from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  be 
you  native  or  foreigner  from  a  thousand 
miles  away,  you  will  be  greeted  by  whom- 
ever you   meet,   young   or   old,   with  a 

169 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

friendly  good-morning,  good-day  or 
good-evening,  or  the  peculiarly  Swiss 
Grilsse!  And  now  here  in  the  great 
United  States  of  America  he,  the  Swiss 
savant,  to  be  insulted  by  street  gamins! 

He  felt  disheartened,  disgusted,  and  he 
would  have  returned  to  his  native  land  the 
next  day,  but  for  the  feeling  which  keeps 
so  many  of  us — shame.  Many  young 
men  and  women  who  leave  their  native 
nests  to  hunt  for  fame  and  fortune  else- 
where would  quickly  return  to  their  homes, 
but  for  that  feeling,  shame ;  shame  to  face 
their  friends  and  relatives  and  to  ac- 
knowledge their  failure,  to  confess  that 
their  flight  was  a  mistake,  that  their  wings 
were  too  frail  and  feeble.  To  some  this 
feeling  of  shame  proves  a  blessing,  for 
eventually  they  attain  their  objects  and 
realize  their  ambitions.  To  others  it 
proves  a  curse.  And  so  it  did  to  Dr.  Beau- 
mont.    He   felt   disheartened   from  the 

start.    He  advertised  for  a  position,  and 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

answered  advertisements,  but  the  few  in- 
terviews he  had  did  not  turn  out  satis- 
factorily. He  was  utterly  devoid  of  the 
quality  so  important  in  our  country, 
namely,  push.  The  few  hundred  francs 
he  brought  along  looked  very  small  when 
changed  into  dollars;  and  those  few  dol- 
lars w^ere  going  rapidly.  His  mother's 
letters,  tho  full  of  love  and  encourage- 
ment, were  giving  him  great  anxiety.  He 
felt  that  all  was  not  well  with  her,  as  he 
knew  that  her  mother's  intuition  told  her 
that  all  was  not  well  with  him. 

After  about  six  months  of  dishearten- 
ing idleness  he  obtained  a  position  as 
laboratory  instructor  in  the  College  of 
Pharmacy.  He  worked  conscientiously, 
but  his  heart  was  not  in  the  work.  To 
teach  boys  who  had  no  preliminary  edu- 
cation, many  of  whom  did  not  know  how 
to  do  a  simple  multiplication  or  division 
was  very  irksome  to  a  man  who  had  been 
used  to  teach  people  with  a  college  educa- 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

tion.  But  he  probably  would  have  kept 
on  with  his  work — if  not  for  the  severe 
accident,  to  which  he  nearly  succumbed. 
One  evening  he  was  walking  along  23d 
street  absorbed  in  thought.  This  being- 
absorbed-in-thought  while  walking  the 
streets  of  a  large  city  is,  by  the  way,  a 
very  bad  habit  and  should  not  be  indulged 
in.  The  author  once  came  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  being  crushed,  and  it  reminds 
me  that  it  cost  Prof.  Curie,  the  discov- 
erer of  radium,  his  life — a  precious  life 
prematurely  crushed  out  by  a  stupid  Paris 
express  wagon.  Yes,  one  evening  he  was 
walking  along  23d  street.  He  was  about 
to  cross  Broadway — but  he  remembered 
no  more.  In  fact,  the  next  four,  five 
months  were  almost  a  perfect  blank  to 
him.  He  was  taken  to  Bellevue,  the  hos- 
pital in  which  people  are  treated  with  so 
much  kindness,  gentleness  and  considera- 
tion, and  there  he  stayed  for  nearly  five 
months.     A  depressed  fracture  of  the 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

skull,  a  compound  fracture  of  the  tibia 
and  some  internal  injuries  were  the  prin- 
cipal results  of  the  too  close  contact  of  the 
heavy  express  wagon  with  Dr.  Beau- 
mont's body.  One  doctor  was  anxious  to 
amputate  his  leg,  but  saner  and  more  con- 
servative counsel  luckily  prevailed  and  his 
leg  was  as  good  as  ever,  except  for  an  oc- 
casional twinge.  He  suffered  atrocious 
pain,  and  they  kept  him  most  of  the  time 
under  the  influence  of  morphine.  And  in 
our  city  hospitals  they  are  not  very  stingy 
with  their  doses.  Cries  and  groans  are 
not  pleasant  sounds,  and  the  nurses  and 
orderlies  prefer  to  keep  the  patients  quiet. 
Anyway,  what  do  those  homeless  patients, 
after  whom  nobody  comes  to  inquire, 
amount  to?  Nobody  came  to  inquire 
after  Dr.  Beaumont.  Or,  at  least,  if  any- 
body did,  he  didn't  know  it.  When  he 
finally  got  out  of  the  hospital,  he  found, 
to  his  horror,  that  he  was  a  morphine  fiend. 
He  had  to  have  some  of  it  every  day,  or 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

two  or  three  times  a  day.  He  tried  to 
fight  against  it,  but  it  was  in  vain.  He 
could  partake  of  no  food,  felt  weak  and 
fainting  like,  had  pains  in  the  head  and 
was  utterly  unable  to  sleep,  unless  he  took 
a  grain  or  so  of  morphine.  He  felt  he 
was  not  morally  to  blame,  but  he  despised 
himself  for  his  weakness.  He  consoled 
himself,  however,  with  the  thought  that 
as  he  got  stronger  and  the  pains  in  his 
head  disappeared,  he  would  be  able  to 
break  the  habit.  But  of  course  it  only 
got  a  stronger  hold  on  him. 

The  first  thing  he  did  on  leaving  the 
hospital  was  to  go  for  his  mail.  His  land- 
lady, from  whom  he  hired  a  room,  had 
moved,  but  after  a  search  of  several  hours 
he  located  her.  He  was  handed  five  or 
six  letters,  which  had  been  received  during 
the  first  six  or  seven  weeks  of  his  illness. 
The  letters  that  came,  after,  his  landlady 
told  him,  were  returned  to  Switzerland,  as 
she  did  not  know  whether  he  would  ever 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

come  back.  The  thing  that  caused  him 
the  greatest  suffering  from  the  moment 
he  regained  consciousness  in  the  hospital 
was  the  thought  of  the  terrible  anxiety 
that  his  poor  old  mother  must  have  felt 
at  not  receiving  any  letters  from  him  for 
so  long.  This  suffering  became  more 
acute,  as  he  perused  the  letters,  for  these 
letters  were  not  letters:  they  were  a  wo- 
man's anguish  cries,  they  were  the  fraijtic 
appeals  from  a  breaking  heart,  they  were 
the  agony  prayers  of  a  mother  to  her  son 
to  write,  to  come  back,  to  let  her  know 
that  he  was  at  least  alive.  But  to  all  these 
letters  he  could  send  no  reply.  And  when 
he  realized  what  effect  the  returned  let- 
ters, with  the  stamp  across,  "  not  found," 
must  have  had  on  his  mother,  he  collapsed. 
He  fainted  dead  away.  He  was  brought 
to,  and  but  for  the  thoughts  of  his  mother, 
he  would  have  ended  it  right  there  and 
then.    So  he  told  me. 

But  the  thought  of  his  mother  spurred 

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PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 


him  on  to  activity.  Tho  his  funds  were 
very  low,  he  went  at  once  and  sent  a  long 
cablegram  to  his  mother,  stating  that  he 
had  been  sick,  but  was  now  perfectly  well 
and  that  he  was  mailing  her  a  letter  with 
all  details.  He  then  mailed  her  a  letter, 
and  then  another  and  another.  He  wanted 
to  compensate  her  for  her  suiFering.  But 
now  his  turn  came.  No  letter  came  in  re- 
ply. He  lost  his  appetite  entirely,  was 
unable  to  sleep,  and  to  keep  on  his  feet 
at  all  he  had  to  increase  the  doses  of  mor- 
phine and  their  frequency.  He  lost  all 
ambition  and  became  utterly  careless  of 
himself.  He  finally  wrote  a  letter  to  an 
official  in  his  native  town  and  received  the 
grewsome  news  that  his  mother  had  died 
some  two  months  ago.  The  poor  woman 
could  not  bear  the  loss  of  the  son  she  loved 
so  passionately.  The  brief  official  notifica- 
tion of  the  death  of  his  mother  was  re- 
ceived by  Drc  Beaumont  on  the  morning 
of  the  day  on  which  this  story  opens.    As 

176 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

the  full  significance  of  the  news  became 
clear  to  him,  he  decided  to  end  his  life  that 
very  day.  He  had  nothing  to  live  for. 
America  had  become  hateful  to  him — it 
brought  him  nothing  but  suffering  and 
humiliation.  To  go  back  to  Switzerland — 
his  funds  were  entirely  gone ;  he  had  spent 
his  last  quarter.  And  go  back  for  what? 
'His  mother  gone,  his  sweetheart  lost,  the 
prospects  of  a  University  position  very 
poor — what  will  he  do  in  Switzerland? 
Especially  with  this  terrible  morphine 
habit  fastened  upon  him.  ^^o,  the  best 
thing,  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  make 
an  end  of  this  miserable  existence.  An- 
other failure  added  to  this  world's  num- 
berless failures,  another  grave  added  to 
the  thousands  of  nameless  graves.  And 
Dr.  Beaumont  confessed  to  me  that  the 
morphine  he  was  asking  me  for  on  that 
bright  and  sunshiny,  but  to  him  dark  and 
gloomy,  day  was  not  to  appease  his  mor- 
phine hunger;  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 

17T 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

ending  his  life.  The  highest  single  dose 
he  was  used  to  was  two  grains,  and  he 
knew  that  ten  grains  taken  at  once  would 
put  him  into  a  sleep  from  which  there  is 
no  awakening,  would  send  him  to  a  coun- 
try from  which  no  one  returns. 

Many  weeks  later  I  asked  Dr.  Beau- 
mont what  made  him  change  his  decision. 
Why,  instead  of  taking  the  morphine  that 
I  gave  him  all  in  one  dose,  he  took  only 
a  small,  to  him  harmless,  quantity.  He 
thought  a  while  and  then  replied :  "  It 
would  be  hard  to  say.  Your  giving  me 
the  morphine  and  your  sympathetic  look 
were  a  balm  to  my  woimded  soul.  And 
then  I  was  so  ravenously  hungry,  just  at 
that  time,  that  when  you  mentioned  tak- 
ing a  bite,  I  simply  could  not  resist  the 
temptation.  I  thought  I  could  take  the 
balance  of  the  morphine  after  I  had  eaten 
something.'* 

I  became  deeply  interested  in  Dr.  Beau- 
mont.   I  tried  to  do  all  I  could  for  him. 

178 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

I  was  convinced,  however,  from  the  start, 
that  the  United  States  was  no  place  for 
him.    With  his  modesty  and  shyness,  his 
utter  lack  of  push  and  bravado,  he  would 
have  a  hard  road  to  hoe.    Should  he  ever 
reach  anything,   it  would   take  him  ten 
years  to  reach  the  same  position  that  he 
could  reach  in  his  native  home  in  two  or 
three  years.     Certain  people,  like  certain 
plants,  do  not  bear  transportation  to  for- 
eign  soil.     Despite  all  endeavors,  they 
never  get  acclimatized.     Dr.  Beaumont 
was  such  a  tender  plant.    I  asked  him  if 
he  did  not  think  it  would  be  best  for  him 
to  return  to  Switzerland,  and  from  his 
reply  I  was  convinced  that  that  was  now 
his    constant   dream.      He   was    getting 
stronger,   hope   began  to   spring   in   his 
breast,  and  I  noticed  that  his  will-power  in 
fighting  the  morphine  habit  was  gaining 
strength.    Only  some  help,  some  encour- 
agement, something  to  make  him  feel  that 
he  still  had  sometliing  to  hve  for,  and  the 

179 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

battle  would  be  won.  I  decided  to  take 
things  into  my  own  hands.  Without  tell- 
ing him  anything  about  it,  I  wrote  a  let- 
ter to  Mile.  J.,  Dr.  Beaumont's  sweet- 
heart, who  I  knew  was  still  occupying  his 
heart  and  brain.    I  wrote  her  as  follows: 

"  I  am  Dr.  Beaumont's  friend.  I  am 
the  only  friend  he  has  in  this  country. 
Things  have  been  going  badly  with  him 
since  he  came  here.  And  they  have  been 
going  from  bad  to  worse.  He  met  with 
a  severe  accident,  which  nearly  cost  him 
his  life  and  which  confined  him  to  a  hos- 
pital cot  for  five  months.  He  is  still  a 
very  sick  and  despondent  man.  Amer- 
ica is  no  place  for  him.  The  only  thing 
for  him  to  do  is  to  return  to  his  native  land, 
and  the  sooner,  the  better.  He  needs  en- 
couragement— can  we  expect  it  from 
you?  I  write  without  his  knowledge  and 
consent.  But  I  do  know,  that  there  is 
now  but  one  person  in  the  world  of  whom 

180 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

he  constantly  thinks  and  for  whose  wel- 
fare he  is  constantly  praying." 

Thus  ran  my  somewhat  childish  letter. 
But  in  about  18  or  perhaps  19  days  I  re- 
ceived a  note  thanking  me  for  my  letter 
and  enclosing  a  letter  for  Dr.  Beaumont. 
When  Dr.  Beaumont  came  that  after- 
noon, I  told  him  rather  negligently,  that 
I  had  a  letter  for  him,  tho  I  did  not  know 
if  it  would  interest  him.  When  he  saw 
the  address  on  the  envelope,  he  began  to 
tremble  all  over  and  after  he  glanced  thru 
it  rapidly,  he,  with  Gallic  effusiveness 
and  sentimentality,  fell  on  my  neck,  kissed 
me  and  then  began  to  sob  like  a  child.  I 
never  knew  what  the  letter  contained,  but 
from  that  minute  he  was  infused  with 
new  life  and  ambition.  I  had  also  written 
a  letter  to  Prof.  P.  merely  stating  that 
Dr.  Beaumont  had  been  dangerously  ill 
for  many  months,  that  his  health  was  bad 
now,  that  I  believed  the  New  York  cli- 

181 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

mate  did  not  agree  with  him,  and  asking 
if  there  would  be  an  opening  for  him  in 
the  University,  if  he  came  back.  In  due 
time  a  cordial  note  came  from  Prof.  P. 
to  the  effect  that  Dr.  Beaumont  could 
have  his  old  position  back  whenever  he 
returned.  There  was  another  rejoicing. 
In  the  excitement  of  the  preparations, 
in  his  anticipation  of  again  seeing  his  be- 
loved Switzerland  and  his  beloved  fiancee. 
Dr.  Beaumont  became  another  man.  For 
three  consecutive  days  he  "  forgot  to 
think  "  of  his  morphine,  and  when  on  the 
fourth  day  the  desire  made  itself  felt,  he 
resolutely  combated  and  overcame  it. 
And  I  believe  I  can  assert  with  positive- 
ness  that  for  the  next  two  weeks,  until  he 
embarked  for  Europe,  Dr.  Beaumont  did 
not  touch  the  drug.  There  was  some  em- 
barrassment at  first  as  to  the  wherewithal 
to  buy  the  steamship  ticket,  a  decent  suit 
of  clothes,  etc.  I  decided  to  advance  the 
money,  tho  Dr.  Beaumont  decidedly  ob- 

182 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

jected  to  the  plan.  He  thought  he  had 
been  enough  of  a  burden  to  me.  We  were 
relieved,  however,  of  all  further  discussion 
on  the  subject  by  the  arrival  of  a  draft 
from  Mile.  J.  for  five  hundred  francs. 
She  wrote  with  feminine  delicacy  that  in 
the  present  state  of  his  health  he  needed 
to  take  particular  care  of  himself,  and 
she  begged  him  to  accept  the  loan  of  500 
francs,  to  purchase  extra  wraps,  etc. 
"  God  bless  that  little  girl.  She  guessed 
that  I  did  not  have  money  for  the 
fare,'*  was  the  remark  Dr.  Beaumont 
made. 

A  week  later  I  saw  Dr.  Beaumont  off 
for  Europe.  I  was  the  only  one  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  steamer.  Some  three 
weeks  later  I  got  a  letter  from  him  in- 
forming me  that  he  arrived  safe  and 
sound,  and  telling  me  that  his  desire  for 
morphine  was  but  slight  and  that  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  overcoming  it.  He  was  to 
receive  his  appointment  in  the  University 

183 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

in  a  few  weeks.  I  received  at  the  same 
time  a  letter  from  Mile.  J.  thanking  me 
in  most  extravagant  language  for  all  I 
did  for  Dr.  B. 

During  the  first  six  months  I  kept 
up  correspondence  with  Dr.  Beaumont 
pretty  regularly.  Then  it  began  to  lag. 
I  failed  to  answer  one  or  two  letters,  or 
perhaps  I  answered  them  too  briefly.  I 
then  took  up  the  study  of  medicine,  and 
when  one  studies  medicine  earnestly,  he 
has  no  time  for  anything  else.  For  three 
years  I  wrote  and  answered  few  or  no 
letters.  I  acknowledged  but  two  com- 
munications from  him — the  one  in  which 
he  notified  me  that  Prof.  P.  died,  and  that 
he  was  appointed  in  his  place  to  the  full 
professorship,  and  the  invitation  to  his 
wedding.  For  two  or  three  years  more 
we  exchanged  occasional  brief  letters — 
and  then  our  correspondence  came  to  an 
end.  I  suppose  it  was  principally  my 
fault.    I  got  too  many  irons  in  the  fire. 

184 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

I  got  too  many  new  interests,  I  did  a  lot 
of  studying,  reading  and  traveling,  and 
I  had  no  time  to  WTite  letters.  And  so 
Doctor,  now  Professor,  Beaumont,  be- 
came but  a  vague,  hazy  memory.  He  went 
out  of  my  life,  as  many  friends  do,  whom 
we  think  we  will  never  forget  to  the  end 
of  our  days.  Our  present  hurried  and 
work-yourself-to-death  mode  of  Hfe  is 
not  conducive  to  the  old-time  life -long 

friendships. 

*.  •  i«t  I*'  '• 

A  week  ago  to-day  we  went  up  the 
Brienzer  Rothorn,  that  magnificent  peak 
which  rises  7800  feet  above  the  sea  level 
and  the  view  from  which  in  fine  weather 
may  justly  be  considered  one  of  the  finest 
in  the  world.  As  I  was  enjoying  the  un- 
forgettable sight,  as  the  gigantic  moun- 
tain chains,  the  snow-mantled  peaks,  the 
beautiful  valleys,  and  the  numerous  lakes 
were  coming  into  view,  illumined  by  the 
rising  sun,  I  noticed  a  party  of  tourists 

185 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 


with  Alpenstocks  and  knapsacks,  clamber- 
ing up  the  Rothorn-Kulm.  That  is  not  a 
rarity  and  I  paid  no  attention  to  them. 
I  soon  became  aware,  however,  that  I  was 
the  object  of  stolen  glances  and  animated 
whisperings.  The  party  consisted,  I 
noticed,  of  an  old  gentleman,  a  middle- 
aged  woman,  a  young  lady  and  two  sturdy 
boys  of  about  15  to  17  years  of  age.  I 
continued  to  drink  in  the  magnificent 
scene  before  me,  but  I  could  not  help 
noticing,  that  whatever  the  cause  might 
be,  I  was  an  object  of  great  interest  to 
the  newcomers.  Finally,  after  some  evi- 
dent hesitation,  the  old  gentleman  came 
up  to  me. 

"Pardon    me    for    intruding    myself 
upon  you.    Are  you  Dr.  Robinson?  " 

"  Yes."    My  astonishment  was  greater 
than  my  delight. 

"Of  New  York?" 
Of  New  York." 
I  thought  so.     I  was  almost  certain. 

186 


« 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

And  do  you  know  who  I  am? "  he  asked 
with  a  smile. 

I  scrutinized  the  kindly  face  most 
searchingly,  but  search  my  memory  as  I 
might,  I  could  get  no  inkling  as  to  who  the 
old  gentleman  might  be.  In  fact  I  was 
inwardly  sure  that  I  had  never  seen  that 
face  before. 

"  I  regret  to  say  I  do  not  know  to  whom 
I  have  the  honor  to  speak,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  your  kindness  is  greater  than 
your  memory.    I  am  Prof.  Beaumont." 

In  a  flash  the  incidents  of  twenty-five 
years  ago  came  back  to  me.  But  I  was 
not  surprised  at  my  utter  failure  to  recog- 
nize my  friend.  Twenty-five  years  ago 
his  hair  was  jet  black  and  he  wore  no 
beard.  Not  when  I  saw  him.  He  fol- 
lowed the  advice  of  our  noble  citizens  in 
futuro,  who  reminded  him  frequently  that 
he  wore  whiskers  and  long  hair,  and  who 
insisted  that  he  employ  the  services  of  a 
barber.     He  did.     Now  the  top  of  his 

187 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE    OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

head  was  bald,  his  hair  in  the  back  was 
very  long  and  white  and  he  wore  a  long 
gray  beard.  His  eyes  then  had  a  timid, 
hunted  and  bitter  expression;  now  they 
looked  upon  the  world  kindly,  confidently 
and  smilingly.  No,  I  am  not  surprised 
that  I  failed  to  recognize  him.  It  was 
only  after  an  hour's  conversation  that  I 
began  to  see  some  identity  in  the  features 
of  the  Prof.  Beaumont  of  now  and 
of  twenty-five  years  ago.  Our  delight 
was  mutual  and  great.  We  forgot  the 
Engelberg,  Appenzell  and  Bernese  Alps 
that  were  towering  above  us;  we  forgot 
the  pretty  Hasli  Valley  and  the  beautiful 
lakes  of  Brienz,  Lucerne,  Sarnen,  Neu- 
chatel,  etc.,  etc.,  that  were  lying  at  our 
feet.  We  forgot  even  the  magnificent 
sunrise,  which  one  can  only  see  on  the 
Alps — we  forgot  what  we  went  up  the 
Brienzer  Rothorn  for,  for  we  had  so  much 
to  talk  about.  I  was  introduced  to  his 
wife  (who  if  possible  was  even  more  de- 

188 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

lighted  than  her  husband  to  see  me) ,  and 
to  his  three  children.  I  was  invited  to  see 
them  at  their  home.  I  gladly  accepted  the 
invitation  and  the  three  days  I  passed 
there  are  among  the  pleasantest  I  have 
ever  passed  in  Switzerland. 

Prof.  Beaumont's  position  is  now  abso- 
lutely secure.  His  researches  in  organic 
chemistry  have  established  him  as  one  of 
the  three  greatest  authorities  in  that  im- 
portant branch  of  science.  I  was  rather 
surprised  at  the  opulence,  nay,  even  lux- 
ury of  his  establishment.  Professorships 
in  Europe  do  not  pay  so  well.  I  asked 
him  if  his  position  brought  him  an  excep- 
tionally large  income.  "  No,  on  a  profes- 
sional salary  in  Switzerland  one  can  live 
but  very  modestly.  Here  is  something 
that  pays  better."  And  he  showed  me 
three  patents  which  had  been  granted  him. 
One  was  for  an  improved  process  for  the 
manufacture  of  sulphuric  acid,  one  was 
for  a  dye  for  fabrics  and  the  third  one, 

189 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B- 

I  was  surprised  to  learn,  was  a  patent  for 
an  organic  silver  salt,  which  I  had  been 
using  in  my  practice  for  years.  He  had 
sold  the  patents,  but  was  receiving  royal- 
ties. I  told  him,  laughingly,  that  I  did 
not  know  I  was  enriching  him  every  time 

I  prescribed ,  but  I  was  glad  that  such 

was  the  case.  He  said:  "Well,  you  are 
only  doing  what  you  started  out  to  do 
twenty-five  years  ago."  I  said  I  thought 
it  was  best  for  him  never  to  think  of  or 
refer  to  the  past.  He  answered:  "I 
don't  mind  it.  I  have  repeatedly  spoken 
of  it  to  Mme.  Beaumont.  It  was  the 
darkest  page  in  my  hfe,  but  towards  the 
end  it  became  illumined  with  bright  and 
warm  rays.  It  renewed  and  strengthened 
my  faith  in  humanity — a  faith  without 
which  no  one  can  live  or  work  properly." 
An  idea  suddenly  struck  me.  "  Would 
you  have  any  objection,  Prof.  Beaumont, 
to  my  writing  up  and  publishing  the  entire 
incident?"  I  asked. 

190 


PAGE   FROM   LIFE   OF   PROFESSOR  B. 

"  None  whatever,"  he  answered  without 
the  slightest  hesitation.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  do  it. 
It  may  do  some  good.    I  hope  it  will." 

And  so,  with  my  impressions  freshened 
by  the  meeting  with  Prof.  Beaumont,  I 
have  written  down  the  httle  story.  With 
the  exception  of  one  detail,  I  have  de- 
scribed everything  just  as  it  occurred,  or 
at  least  as  it  appeared  in  my  memory. 

If  there  is  any  moral  to  be  drawn  from 
this  story,  it  is  this :  Always  help  a  stum- 
bling brother — or  sister.  And  in  the  book 
of  good  deeds  the  credit  given  you  will  be 
so  much  the  greater,  if  the  stumbling 
brother  or  sister  happen  to  be  a  stranger 
in  your  land. 

I  believe  that  the  Bible  contains  also 
something  to  this  effect. 

Brienz,  Switzerland, 
August  16,  1908. 


191 


Sexual  Problems  of  Today 

By  -WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON.  M.  D. 

Dr.  Robinson's  work  deals  with  every 
phase  of  the  sex  question,  both  in  its  in- 
dividual and  its  social  aspects.  In  this 
book  the  scientific  knowledge  of  a  physician, 
eminent  as  a  specialist  in  everything  per- 
taining to  the  physiological  and  medical 
side  of  these  topics,  is  combined  with  the 
vigorous  social  views  of  a  thinker  who  has 
radical  ideas  and  is  not  afraid  to  give  them 
outspoken  expression. 

A  few  of  the  subjects  which  the  author 
discusses  in  trenchant  fashion  are: 

The  Relations  Between  the  Sexes  and 
Man's  Inhumanity  to  Woman. — ^The  In- 
fluence of  Abstinence  on  Man's  Sexual 
Health  and  Sexual  Power.— The  Double 
Standard  of  Morality  and  the  Effect  of 
Continence  on  Each  Sex. — The  Limita- 
tion of  Offspring:  the  Most  Important 
Immediate  Step  for  the  Betterment  of 
the  Human  Race,  from  an  EJconomic 
and  Eugenic  Standpoint. — What  To  Do 
With  the  Prostitute  and  How  To  Abol- 
ish Venereal  Disease. — The  Question  of 
Abortion  Considered  In  Its  Ethical  and 
Social  Aspects. — Torturing  the  Wife 
When  the  Husband  Is  At  Fault.— Influ- 
ence of  the  Prostate  on  Man's  Mental 
Condition.— The  Most  Efficient  Venereal 
Prophylactics,  etc.,  etc. 

"SEXUAL  PROBLEMS  OF  TO-DAY"  will 
give  most  of  its  readers  information  they 
never  possessed  before  and  ideas  they  never 
had  before — or  if  they  had,  never  heard 
them    publicly    expressed    before. 

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stories  of  love  and  Life 

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By  William  J.  Robinson,  M.D. 


All  who  have  read  "Never  Told  Tales" 
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Here  is  how  Horace  Traubel  concludes 
his  review  of  "Stories  of  Love  and  Life": 

"After  reading  Robinson  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
had  a  refreshing  dip  in  cold  water.  And  I  feel 
as  if  the  winds  were  blowing  across  my  naked 
body.  I  taste  fruits  and  smell  flowers.  Now 
you  may  go  on  saying  he's  no  artist.  And 
maybe  he's  not.  But  he's  that  thing  whatever 
it  is  that  belongs  with  pure  air  and  the  right 
food  and  the  fundamental  instincts.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is.  But  if  a  man  can  get  it  into 
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All    tH«     BooKs     and    PampHl»t*    wo    PvjblisH    aro 

"Worth   "While 

NOS.    1    TO    7    CONSTITUTE 

THe  Critic  and  Guide 

SEX    LIBRARY 

A.  Complete  Collected  Works  of  Dr.  A.  Jacobl, 
President  of  the  American  Medical  Asso- 
ciation, in  8  splendid  volumes    $  15.00 

1.  The  Prevention  of  Sexual  Diseases.  By  Vic- 
tor G.   Vecki,  M.  D 1.50 

9.  Never-Told  Tales.  A  vivid  presentation  of 
the  results  of  sexual  ignorance.  By  Wm. 
J.   Robinson,  M.   D 1.00 

3.  Sexual    Problems    of    To-day.     By    Wm.    J. 

Robinson,   M.   D 2.00 

4.  Sex  Morality,  Past,  Present  and  Future;  or 

Monogamy  vs.  Variety.  By  Wm.  J.  Rob- 
inson, M.  D.,  Leo  Jacobi,  M.  D.,  and  oth- 
ers            100 

5.  Practical    Eugenics:     Four    Means    of    Im- 

proving the  Human  Race.  By  Wm.  J. 
Robinson,   M.   D 50 

6.  The  Venereal  Peril.    By  Wm.  L.  Holt,  M.  D.         .25 

7.  The   Social   Evil.     By   Wm.   L.   Holt,   M.   D.         .10 

8.  The  Present  Status  of  606  or  Salvarsan 25 

9.  The  Treatment  of  Pollutions  and  Spermator- 

rhea.    By   Wm.   J.    Robinson,   M.   D 20 

10.  Scientific    Medicine   vs.   Quackery.     By   Wm. 

J.   Robinson,   M.   D 10 

11.  The  Hunter   (Schreiner)   and  A  Page  From 

My  Life    (Robinson)    25 

12.  The  Ten  Greatest  Humanitarians  of  the  19th 

Century.  A  Symposium.  By  Victor  Rob- 
inson      25 

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checks  add  10c  for  collection. 

THE    CRITIC    AND    GUIDE    CO. 

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A   PRACTICAL  TREATISE 
ON    THE    CAUSES,    SYMPTOMS,   AND 

Treatment    of 
Sexual    Impotence 

AND   OTHER   SEXUAL  DISORDERS 
IN  MEN  AND  WOMEN 

By 
W^ILLIAM  J.  P.ODINSON,  M.D. 

Chief  of  the  Department  of  Genito-Urinary 
Diseases  and  Dermatology,  Bronx  Hospital  and 
Dispensary;  Editor  The  American  Journal  of 
Urology,  Venereal  and  Sexual  Diseases;  Editor 
and  Founder  of  The  Critic  and  Guide;  Author 
of  Sexual  Problems  of  Today;  Never  Told  Tales; 
Practical  Eugenics,  etc.,  President  of  the  Ameri- 
can Society  of  Medical  Sociology,  President  of 
the  Northern  Medical  Society,  Ex-president  of 
the  Berlin  Anglo-American  Medical  Society,  Fel- 
low of  the  New  York  Academy  of  Medicine, 
Member  of  American  Medical  Editors'  Associa- 
tion, American  Medical  Association,  New  York 
State  Medical  Society,  Medical  Society  of  the 
County  of  New  York,  American  Urological  As- 
sociation, Harlem  Medical  Association,  Society 
for  Moral  and  Sanitary  Prophylaxis,  etc.,   etc. 

This  long  EXPECTED  and  long  PROM- 
ISED book  is  now  ready.  This  volume  is 
universally  acknowledged  the  best,  most  con- 
cise, most  explicit,  most  practical  book  on 
SEXUAL  IMPOTENCE  and  other  sexual  dis- 
orders in  the  English  or  any  other  language. 

400  pages.     Price,  $3.00,  postpaid. 

THE  CRITIC  AND  GUIDE  COMPANY 

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